


The Crush

by Selmak



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Drugged Confession, F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selmak/pseuds/Selmak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s been in the business long enough to know when a junior agent is smitten. He’s usually been the smitten, never the smoted. If that’s the right word.  </p><p>And if Melinda teases him as he’s suddenly got a bounce in his step, well, let her wonder why. It’s his afterlife crisis.</p><p>After all, all the other ducklings have a crush on Mama Duck Melinda, so why can’t he have the one duckling that fancies Papa Duck? </p><p>However, let the record show that Phil Coulson is grateful. </p><p>And flattered as hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crush

Jemma Simmons has a crush.

A crush so encompassing that she schools her features whenever he is near. It’s hard though.  Because she feels like smiling whenever he is near.  He’s not textbook handsome, no not all, but he’s polite and pleasant.  Smells nice too. She feels safe, whenever he’s near, as though whatever might go wrong, he’ll be able to easily fix.

And unlike others who might be intimidated by her intelligence, he lets her prattle on and on, with the rare quip of “English, please?”

He has lovely, expressive hands and he makes a mean Mamie Taylor.  She’s not a drinker, but with his crooked smile and an offer to make her a drink that she’ll enjoy, well, she takes him up on it. It’s amazing smooth and after a few, she is horribly, horribly giddy, so he refuses to make her more than two at a time. He doesn’t want to contribute to her delinquency.

And if Phil Coulson ever knew that Jemma Simmons had a crush on him, she’d jump out of The Bus Sans Parachute.

-=-

He’s been in the business long enough to know when a junior agent is smitten. He’s usually been the smitten, never the smoted. If that’s the right word.  He’s also been in the field long enough to know not to take advantage of it, but he does give her a little more praise than the others. Just a little, and when he has to “Nick Fury” his team, he is a little less harsh on her. She is... younger... than Skye in certain ways and he doesn’t wish to crush her spirit.

If he was less honorable, a little less damaged, he’d take her out for a spin in Lola.  Indulge in some harmless flirting to see where it would lead. There’s no rule against fraternization in SHIELD, fortunately, as they’d soon run out of baby Agents. But he’s both honorable and damaged, so he ensures that he’s rarely, if ever alone with her. She’ll grow out of it, and be properly mortified soon enough.

And if Melinda teases him as he’s suddenly got a bounce in his step, well, let her wonder why. It’s his afterlife crisis.

After all, all the other ducklings have a crush on Mama Duck Melinda, so why can’t he have the one duckling that fancies Papa Duck?

However, let the record show that Phil Coulson is grateful.

And flattered as hell.

-=-=

It was a simple mission that went completely ass over tit as the intel was dead wrong . They stumbled into a firefight where they were completely outnumbered. It was just an intelligence gathering mission, to check out what was rumored to be alien tech. As in any mission, Phil Coulson counts his ducks, Mama Melinda Duck and the various ducklings compulsively. He notices that Simmons is lagging behind and he orders Grant and Melinda to get the team out.  Simmons is limping as she’s wrenched her ankle, so he grabs her by the waist and attempts a three legged race. 

They fail to make the finish line and the enemy agents surround them.   When the one raises the butt of his M16 to smash Simmons’ head, Phil cradles her and takes the blow.  He’s the leader, after all.

-=-=-

He wakes up and wishes he hadn’t.  He is hogtied, blindfolded and there is a gag in his mouth, and he’s bouncing around in the trunk. Plus he feels like he’s been hit with the butt of a M16 over and over again.  Overkill, he thinks as he went mercifully unconscious after the first blow.  He feels a warm body next to him, and whoever it is, is shaking.

 _Simmons_ , he thinks, so he rolls next to the body and he sniffs her hair.  She wears a light flowery scent when they have their 1:1 meetings and his trunk mate is wearing the same perfume.  It’s most likely her then, so he positions himself so he is resting his head on her shoulders, meaning their faces are cheek to cheek.  The shaking almost immediately ceases, so she’s awake and aware that he’s there.

That done, he rolls over so their hands are touching.  He squeezes them, and then moves up to her wrist where he discovers plastic.

Zip ties. It has to be zip ties.   He’s not Melinda, who can dislocate her wrist to get out of them. He’s not Houdini, he’s just Phil Coulson, middle aged SHIELD agent with a few too many miles on him, so he rolls over again, searching for something sharp.  He’s energetically sawing through the zip ties when the trunk is opened and they’re pulled out.

His noble though doomed attempt at escape are duly noted and he’s smacked again with a M16.  Or a board.   Or a sledgehammer.

-=-=

He hears a soft English voice repeating, “Sir? Sir? Sir?” 

“The name is Phil,” he retorts. “For this, I’m Phil.”

“Can you open your eyes, Sir... Phil...”  Simmons says.

He does so gingerly, waiting for the world to turn on its axis and for him to hurl. However, both the world and his stomach stay where they should.  Which is good, as vomiting in front of junior agents is a quick and easy way to lose their respect.

First thing he notices, Simmons is close to panicking.  She’s a scientist, not a field agent, but he had seen something in her dossier that made him decide to put her on the team.  His hands are free, so he taps his finger on her wrist.

“Report,” he calmly states. He keeps his voice calm and collected.  When the senior agent starts freaking out, well, junior agents have a tendency of going off the rails.

“You’ve been unconscious for some time,” she admits.  “They threw us in here and they haven’t been back since.”

“Are you hurt?” he asks next.  “Ankle?”

“Sore,” she admits. “You got the worst of it, as you covered me. Thank you, Phil.”

She’s shivering, and it’s distinctly on the cold side in their windowless 9’ by 9’ cell, so he offers her his suit jacket.  She’s a waif of a girl and he’s not, so it’s ridiculously too large for her, so he throw her his tie to use as a belt.

“Latest fashion from Paris,” he tells her.  “Now, I want to see your ankle.”

-=-=

Coulson is examining her ankle very carefully.  He moves it this way and that, and after she winces in pain, he authoritatively announces, “Probably not broken.” He examines other injuries with professional hands and she wishes for something horribly improper.  In a much better neighborhood.

Then he examines the room, consisting of four solid walls, and he shakes his head. “Where’s the door?”

“A section of the wall turns blue and then it splits,” she explains.

“Wonderful.” Coulson easily sinks down to the floor and he moves quite close to her. He’s wearing that cologne that is distinctively Coulson to her. When she had been hogtied, she had been terrified as she feared being alone.  But smelling his cologne had meant that she wasn’t alone; hadn’t been left behind. Coulson was there, and he’d get her out.

“Temperatures seem below sixty in the room.  We’ll get chilly soon.”

-=-=

Melinda May was furious. At the world, at large, for continuing to spin, at Simmons for not being able to run faster, at Grant for breaking the axle on the truck while they were following the getaway truck and more importantly she was absolutely enraged with herself and Phil Coulson.  Phil Coulson had done pick up.

However, she is charge of this rescue missions. Rescue, not recovery, and she will not show her emotions to anyone.  Afterwards, she will rip Phil a few new holes.

-=-=

The enemy agents rapidly realize that Simmons is Clouson’s Achilles Heel.  He does what he can to protect her and he easily agrees to be tortured instead of her.  While the enemy has quantity, as they outnumber Phil and Simmons thirty five to one, they don’t have quality as they **_agree_**. They’re **_tools_**. He was captured by a group of rental guerillas!

“She’s a biochemist. She knows nothing... nothing... and when she starts talking, no one understands her,” he says after the first time they give her drugs and she rattles on and on and on about some esoteric theorem.  And neither does he offer anything helpful, as he’s been trained to resist torture. Even the good drugs don’t affect him so he sends them on a long, rambling vision quest of a non-confession.

However, they make Simmons watch during his nonsense blabbering sessions where they beat him up and she is required to patch him up.  It’s awkward for her, he knows, because she has a school girl crush on him, but he tries to be professional and respectable.  She blushes horribly when he thanks for her having gentle hands.

And he wonders if he was ever that young.

And undamaged.

During the long hours of their captivity and their repeated moves, the two talk about anything, mainly to keep Coulson awake as his brain has been spun in his skull like it’s in a milkshake blender.  He makes her laugh, which surprises them both. Really, turning into a babbling idiot in front of Steve Rogers wasn’t **_that_** funny, but he had confessed so she understands that crushes happen to everyone, no matter how old.   He asks her questions about her field, really he knows nothing about it, but when she’s talking about her one great love, science, she becomes less fearful.

She’s also quite cute when she talks about concepts he’ll never understand, but he prompts her and she talks.

-=-=

The only good aspect of their captivity is that she is learning more about Phil, the man behind Agent Phil Coulson, The UnDead, Living SHIELD Legend.  Not that he’s unfriendly, but there’s a layer of aloofness between him and the team. He’ll smile and laugh, join the weekly poker game, but he’s always Agent Coulson to her. And Fitz. Even Skye with her quick wit can’t get close to AC. She had seemed the most likely of them to breach the barrier, but the terrible, terrible incident with Miles has caused her to lose Agent Clouson’s bemused leniency. 

To everyone on the team, except for Melinda, who is the resident expert on Agent Coulson, Phil Coulson is an enigma.  Melinda has known Phil long enough so that she can voice an exasperated “Phil” and Phil will heed her advice. They must have been partners at one time, as there’s a level of trust between the two that even Jemma notices. 

Plus the two senior agents have long, high speed conversations in their version of PigLatin meets Cantonese, so even Fitz isn’t able to translate it using his toys.  And Melinda refuses to entertain any speculation on Phil, his death and the entire Avenger incident.  While she is first and foremost a SHIELD, there is a personal loyalty to Phil that goes beyond that.

And while Jemma wishes that she could earn that level of trust from Agent Coulson, she’s glad that he has Melinda.  Sometimes, she thinks that it’s terribly, terribly lonely being Phil Coulson and she’s glad that she’s merely Jemma Simmons, as she has Fitz. 

Phil’s keeping her calm, keeping her composed. His wit is dry, terribly dry. Since she’s British, she laughs.  In response, he tries to smile his appreciation at having a captive audience. However, his face is quite swollen and discolored as he has protected her, by shielding her form the worst of the blows.  Jemma wishes she was more like Melinda, because she hates feeling Coulson’s body against hers, shuddering as he shelters her from the blows.

When he cradles her during the night for warmth, she wishes for more.

-=-

He is impressed at how well Jemma Simmons is handling the current situation.   She hasn’t panicked, hasn’t done anything to get their captors angry, so he bides his time, searching for an escape.  His faith in Melinda May, having been nurtured by decades of classified escapades, is unshakeable; he knows that The Cavalry will get them out.

Then she’ll give him the tongue lashing of his life and he’ll wonder if it would have been better to stay dead.

However, Phil Coulson knows exactly what wrong in Bogotá and how profoundly it had affected the toughest agent he had ever know,  so he’s not sitting on his hands. He views their guards, determines their weaknesses, who is in charge, who thinks they are, who really is and tries to memorize how many turns it takes to get to which room. And he puts his body between Simmons and their captors, struggling to protect her because she is his team.

When they do sleep, he keeps her on the inside, closest to the wall.  The guards have tried to kick them awake a few times, so he protects Simmons as best as he’s able.  They break a few ribs, and he struggles to hide his discomfort.  His right eye that is swollen shut he can’t hide, nor the split lip, but he doesn’t want her to know how much pain he’s in.

“When we get out of here, I want to be reassigned back to my nice lab,” she pleads.

On one hand, that’s the right spirit, she’s thinking of escape. However, he doesn’t like the ‘reassignment’ bit.

“No, Jemma, I’m not letting you off the team that easily. Not when we’re finally gelling as a team,” he retorts. They’ve got comfortable using each other’s given name and it’s been fascinating learning that Jemma Simmons is her own person. He and Melinda had a friendly wager that FitzSimmons was actually the worst case of splint personality that they’ve ever seen.

 It’s cold in their cell, and they’ve gotten quite comfortable being in each other’s personal space.  She’s shivering, so he puts her arm around her. She falls asleep on him after snuggling still closer to him like she’s a cat and he curses himself for being honorable and decent.

And damaged.

-=-=-

“We’ll get out,” he assures her through a lip that has been split anew, after he’s dumped back into their ‘hotel room’ after another long meaningless conversation with their captors.  Phil and Jemma have gotten quite good as having soft conversations in each other’s ears.  He tries to keep her upbeat and cheerful as much as humanly possible, placing wagers on how the Cavalry will arrive, how many Melinda will merrily destroy.

She nods her head and she doesn’t stop shaking.

“Cold?” he whispers.

It takes a while to rouse her, enough to talk to her. Her voice is slurred as though she’s had too many Mamie Taylors.

“Scared,” she admits. “I know what could happen to me. They were quite thorough in that regard in training.”

The four letter word that starts with R. She’s terrified and she’s stoned out of her gourd, and he wishes he knew what to say.

“It could happen to me,” he says. “In Ancient Greece, enemy generals would be brought in front of their troops and it would be a public humiliation.  It would cause their troops to lose respect for them.”

He said the wrong thing, as if anything, Jemma is more terrified than she was earlier.  He squeezes her hands when he realizes that there’s a new bruise with what looks like a pinprick. From the symptoms she’s displaying they’ve injected her with SP-119 which is stronger than what they’ve been given earlier. She won’t remember anything tomorrow morning when she wakes, but she’ll feel like she was on hell of a bender.

“They gave me something,” she admits after he gently prompts her. “I talked a lot about so many things. I’m sleepy now at least, so I won’t embarrass myself.”

Actually, she’s not sleepy; she’s completely looped, so she snuggles close to him.

“I’m glad you’re here. Else I’d be terrified,” she admits.  She giggles like a giddy high school cheerleader, “I have such a crush on you. I’m glad you’ll never know. You’d be so embarrassed.”

“If I knew, I’d be honored and flattered,” he admits. It’s the truth and Jemma Simmons is almost in his lap now. She’s wiggly and she’s squirmy and has these soft curves... and it’s been far too long for Phil.

She bobs her head and she gives him the biggest, vacant smile. “They _laughed_ at me.”

“Who?” Phil gently asks.

“They asked me about you and I just prattled on and on and on about how... wonderful you are...” she giggles.

They.... their guards, he realizes.   He has a sinking suspicion that he’s underestimated the guards because they have a weapon that they’ve honed to use against him now.  He’s an old fashioned gentleman in some respects and ... **_Christ_**....

Jemma Simmons giggles still more and then she turns somber.  A serious, drunken somber which only confirms how utterly blitzed she is.  “They’re planning on hurting me tomorrow. They’ll make you watch because they think you’ll talk then....”

She changes from a seductress into a little girl, “I wish I was like Melinda... she’s brave. I’m just scared...she’d just glare at them and they’ll fall over dead.”

“Please talk,” she whispers. “I’m terrified and... I would **_die_** if you.... watched them...”

Catlike, she constricts and twists herself until she’s sitting in his lap.  She covers his faces with butterfly kisses and he struggles to restrain her, but carefully.

“I don’t want them to be my first,” she breathes in his ear after he’s restrained her wandering hands.

“I don’t want them to be either,” he easily agrees while his heart lurches. Jemma won’t remember any of this tomorrow, so he decides to play along and offer her comfort, while he attempts to plan an escape.  He’s spent enough time examining their surroundings to know they’re in a great deal of trouble and seriously outnumbered.

“Would you like to be mine?”  Her eyes are glazed and she’s smiling at him. However, it’s not a true smile as her shoulders are hunched, as though she fears his ridicule.

“I’d be honored,” he easily admits. It’s the truth, though it will never **_ever_** happen.

Her blushes are almost thermonuclear and she’s hiding her head as though she’s embarrassed and thrilled at the thought of an old man like him being her first.

And he’s glad that he’s honorable and decent because it will never happen. Though a soft voice that sounds like Tony Stark whispers, “ _And damaged. Let’ s not forget, damaged, Philip_.”

“First times should be special,” he admits.

“I knew you were a romantic. I’ve seen how you take care of Lola.  Fortunately I’m not jealous,” she teases.  She giggles... **_giggles_** again and she stops smiling. “I never thought you’d notice me.”

“Of course I noticed you,” he reassures her.  “How could I not notice you?”

“I’m not Melinda... I’m not Skye,” she whispers.

“I noticed you before I met you.” It’s the truth, as her dossier had fascinated him.  And he adds, “I’m flattered how you feel about me.  Would you like to go out with me?”

She’s drunk on something, and she’ll never remember this conversation tomorrow.  Best to pretend, to feel normal... whole... for a bit.  Yes, he’s too old for her, and damaged to boot.

“Where would you take me?”

“The Ritz... Waldorf... or one of those boutique places,” he pretends to decide while he strokes her hair. “Something ridiculously expensive. Turn down service. I’d rent a suite. I’d spend entirely too much in order to impress you.”

“Tell me more,” she whispers.

“I’d be wearing a suit; you’d be wearing something that makes me realize that I’m the luckiest man in the world.  Dinner, dancing, I love jazz, so I know some clubs.” He is still stroking her hair, and she’s almost purring.  “Like Jazz?”

She nods.

“We’ll go dancing then,” he decides.  “I’ll have to be careful and not dance too closely. I will treat you with respect.”

“Tease,” she whispers. “Promise?  You won’t break my heart like the others?”

Simmons sounds so plaintive that he’s angry, almost Dr. Banner angry at the thought that she’s been hurt by men too self-involved to know what a gem she is.  He knows that he was physically damaged by Loki, but there must have been oxygen deprivation during his trip to Tahiti, as he’s beginning to enjoy their insane conversation. Because he’s thinking of how to make their date special and romantic.

“Promise,” he assures her.  “When we get out of here, I’ll ask you out. Dinner, dancing, jazz music, a nice hotel. Long weekend.”

Her smile is nearly a mile-wide and he doesn’t understand it, not one bit.

“I hope you’re a cuddler,” she slurs as she falls asleep.

“Coulson, compulsive cuddler,” he admits to himself.

-=-=

When Jemma woke, she was horrified to realize that she is wrapped around Phil Coulson.  The senior agent, her BOSS, is awake.  She’s draped around him, resting on his crotch... oh good God.

“It got chilly last night,” he says as he extricates himself.

She remembers her conversation with Phil, where she admitted to her crush on him. He was just kind and considerate, just so Phil that it only makes it worse for her.  She’s close to becoming violently ill from shame and she barely manages to reach the corner of the room, where she hurls.   Her head is spinning, but she continues to vomit until she’s empty.

Humiliated doesn’t begin to describe how she feels.  Her other crushes had been painful experiences for her as her interest had not been reciprocated.  In fact, she had been cruelly mocked, so she had accepted it as the price for her intelligence. An even swap if you will, a lifetime of being alone, in exchange for having a brain.

Phil puts his hands on her shoulders.

“Jemma, you’re sick because of what they gave you.” His voice is calm and non-judgmental.  

There is a sound of ripping cloth, and he hands her part of his shirt.

“Seem to have lost my handkerchief, but wipe your mouth out with this.” She won’t take it from him, so he leans next to her.

“What they gave you last night is making you feel like Tony Stark’s liver after an all week bender,” he calmly tells her.  “Why don’t you sit back down and try to get some sleep? When you wake up, you should feel better. Probably Melinda will be here by then.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” she says.

“For vomiting up your toe nails? It’s the drugs,” he says. “Normal reaction.”

“About what I said last night,” she admits.

“Oh,” he says. There is a long pause before he speaks, “So you don’t have a crush on an older, balding man who dresses like an accountant? That’s disappointing as I found it very flattering. I should have known it was the drugs. Least it’s wasn’t an alien influence. It’s unnerving when an alien finds you attractive. There’s always a threat of an alien probe involved.”

Long dramatic sigh.

He’s offering her a way out and his gentle self-mockery overwhelms her. Jemma is surprised, but not really, when he squeezes her shoulder, hard, and he whispers in her ear. “I was surprised, honestly.  But flattered and deeply, deeply honored. Thank you. And I will take you out for dinner and dancing when we get out of here.  It will be a nice long weekend, maybe in San Fran, maybe Baton Rouge. I’ll have my own room as will you, so you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll make the arrangements and I’ll ensure that I bring the really good champagne. Get you a little tipsy as I enjoy hearing you laugh when you’re giddy.”

Another squeeze and he pulls away. His voice is Agent Coulson’s no nonsense voice. “Now, Agent Simmons, get back on the floor and get some sleep. That’s an order.”

-=--=

They tied him to a wooden chair and told him that he’d get to watch the entertainment.  Simmons is near catatonic at what was about to happen to her and Phil Coulson loses his Irish Catholic temper when they tear her shirt.  Channeling Banner, and a few Black Widow moves, he utilized the chair as a weapon and brings the room to a standstill.   Six down, several possibly dead, and the door is still ajar.

“Grab the small handguns,” he ordered.  “Take as many of the M16s as you can. We’re leaving and not paying the hotel bill.”

She stares at him, and he realizes that Jemma is struggling to process everything.

“Guns. Get the guns,” he slowly and carefully states as he finishes breaking the chair.  He winches as he curses Natasha for making “How to Defeat  a Room Full of Bad Guys with Only a Chair” sound so easy.  Least he doesn’t have to wear a little black dress and high heels.

There are some things even Phil Coulson won’t do.

-=-=-

Phil Coulson, mild-mannered, pleasant, charming Phil Coulson, is a terrifying weapon of mass destruction as he systematically and methodically.... **_annihilates_**... their captors.  While Jemma Simmons has known what Phil Coulson is capable of, as he is a SHIELD agent with a formidable reputation, it’s different now when she’s face to face with him. He’s more efficient in his attack than Ward would be and... God, she told him that she fancied him.  

Had he been laughing at her naiveté?

He continues to point and shoot and slaughter until they finally reach the motor pool area.

Their captors have counted their dead and decided that it’s best to get rid of Phil Coulson, Avenging Angel.  Fortunately, they’ve left a key in a jeep as a complimentary parting gift.

“You’ll have to drive,” he tells her. “I’m seeing four of everything.”

She notices then that there are new dark bruises on Coulson’s forehead, the one eye he can open is glassy and he’s quite pale.

“They hit me again, before they brought me into the room.” he admits.  “I have a concussion based on how I’m feeling. You’ll need to keep me talking, because it won’t be good if I fall asleep.”

She guns the motor, nearly strips the gears and he laughs.  Softly and without malice. “You’re never driving Lola.”

He inhales and slowly exhales, “Do you like jazz?”

“I like jazz,” she admits.

“Swing, bop, modern or fusion? Dixieland or cool jazz?” He asks.

“Jazz,” she repeats. “Why?”

“Need to know where I should take you for dinner and drinks,” he says.  “Any preference? I prefer not to go to New York. Don’t have pleasant memories of the last time I was at a blues club as Banner broke Harlem.”

He paused for a moment and asks her again, “Do you like jazz?”

“Yes, I do,” she says. “You just asked me.”

“Did I? I think it’s the concussion. The last time they hit me, I think something broke....such a headache,” he murmurs. “Such a horrible headache and I’m quite nauseous. I think it’s your driving though.”

He exhales loudly which might be a feeble attempt at a laugh, and then he’s quiet.

“Phil?” she asks when even the jeep nearly overturning fails to cause him to comment. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Champagne?” he asks. His voice was quite slurred. “I was thinking what type of champagne I should order. Which one?”

She continues driving, while Phil asks her the same questions over and over. Does she like jazz? What type? Which champagne?  As though he’s serious about taking her out on the date.  Jemma is so intently concentrating on keeping the jeep on the road, even with the lack of pursuit that she almost runs into the “Short Bus”.  Her focus is on getting Phil help because he’s become less and less coherent. He’s had multiple episodes of unconsciousness and his behavior is screaming closed head injury.

Because of her.

He had sheltered her.

 She slams on the brakes to prevent the collision and Phil grabs at her arm when their jeep stops. He misses but she grabs his hand and gives it a hard squeeze.

“Good job, agent,” he whispers.  It is the last thing Phil Coulson says to her for some time.

The team surrounds them both, and she is grateful that Fitz is there to take care of her.  Because she can’t bring herself to move towards the Short Bus, not when Grant Ward has to carry a nearly comatose Phil Coulson to the vehicle.

-=-=

Melinda May is an incredible pilot, a literal one woman army but she is a surprisingly skilled medic as she is prepping and treating Phil almost as soon as Ward places him in a gurney.  She speaks to the nearly comatose Coulson while she treats him, attempting to judge how responsive he is.  Florence Nightingale would be horrified as Melinda chastises Coulson with a liberal mixture of curses, character aspersions and caustic comments.  The most she gets in response is a grimace.

Jemma watches from the outside of the room, peering through the glass windows.

“He’s... tough,” Skye informs her.  Then in a fake voice, she adds, “He’ll be fine.”

Ward attempts to treat her, but she refuses to let him touch her. Her shirt is torn and she cannot help but remember the overwhelming fear she had when the guards...

“You should be helping Melinda,” is her protest.

“We’ll take care of her,” Skye offers. “Go help Melinda with AC.”

Fitz and Skye had just hooked their arms around hers and were about to not so gently pull her away from the medical area, when Melinda motions her to come in.

“When we land on the helicarrier, I’ll want you checked. However, I need to park the bus as they’re moving the carrier to meet us. Stay with Coulson and talk to him. He can hear you and he will respond if you yell. Dr. Streiten instructed me to put him on an IV Drip with assorted drugs because of the telemetry I sent him. The drug cocktail’s pretty potent, so he’s pretty stoned. That’s why he’s on the ventilator as he’s has a few broken ribs and a concussion at least.”

“PHIL,” Melinda stated loudly. “SIMMONS IS HERE; SHE’S FINE, PHIL.”

Coulson nods his head slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes are shut and there is a tube in his mouth. In a softer voice, Melinda instructed her to talk to Coulson.

“He’ll rest easier if he knows you’re here and that you’re safe. He’s been asking about you.”

Melinda leaves her alone with Coulson, who was lying strapped in a gurney, attached to a multitude of machines. Ward is in the room but he’s busy being unobtrusive, so she finds herself sitting next to Phil. She almost doesn’t recognize him, because he looks different... dead... but then his hand moves somewhat and touches her.  One eye barely cracks open and his lips quirk into the faintest of smiles.

“Go to sleep,” she whispers.  “You need to rest.”

-=-

They’re taken to the helicarrier landing bay, where Nick Fury meets them as Coulson is wheeled out on a gurney. Dr. Streiten is standing next to Director Fury and he’s not amused.

“You weren’t cleared for combat,” he snaps at Jemma. His reproach wounds her, as she’s feeling guilty enough, and she nearly stumbles in exhaustion.  To her surprise, Melinda May grabs her arm to keep her upright and the acting Head of Coulson’s Band of Irregulars glares at the Doctor.

“Agent Coulson commended Agent Simmons on her recent actions,” is all Melinda says, but it’s said with sufficient fierceness to silence even Director Fury.   

There’s a great deal of commotion, as everyone has descended upon the gurney to get Coulson to medical, but it’s futile as Barton and Romanoff have commandeered the gurney.   They will escort their fallen handler and friend to Medical, while Coulson’s new team clears the way of any stragglers who don’t move fast enough.

Jemma Simmons feels overwhelmed by the chaos and is grateful when she is able to slip away. She wishes to return back to the bus, to the safety of her lab.  However, she stops by Coulson’s corvette, and she rubs her eyes at the sight of Coulson’s pride and joy.

“He’ll be back,” she promises the car. Which is rather silly as it is a corvette, not a human being.

Carefully, she places her hand on the convertible. It’s solid and it’s Phil’s pride and joy, so it’s almost like he’s there.

Not really, she knows. She’s about to trudge to her lab when she realizes that Phil left his leather jacket in the car. It’s almost instinctive, that she reaches for it and inhales. Just a quick sniff, to see if it smells like Coulson. She smells leather and his cologne and later on, she finds herself in her bunk, wrapped in the fetal position, wearing Coulson’s leather jacket.

And she cries herself to sleep.

Melinda checks on her later. Using a medial scanner, she notes abrasions, contusions and a few lacerations that are healing.  However, the overwhelming diagnosis is that Simmons is exhausted, so Melinda decides to let her sleep.

-=-=

The team meets sans Coulson and Simmons. 

“Phil is in surgery. There’s a subdural hematoma that needs to be evacuated and he’ll need reconstruction on his face.  They’re putting in a plate and screws due to a broken orbital and cheekbones.   They want Simmons off the team for now but Phil argued that she needs to be with us as we will give her the support she needs.  They’ve agreed, reluctantly, to keep her here with the understanding that she doesn’t go out into the field until she’s cleared. Fitz, Skye?”

“We will support her,” Skye agrees. “Just tell us how.” Leo Fitz nodded his head in agreement.

“Let her vent. Don’t push too hard and if there’s anything that worries you, tell me.”

“She’s wearing Coulson’s jacket,” Fitz inserted.

“Don’t mention unless she does. She’s still scared and I’m assuming it makes her feel safer. Ward, bad news. Fury’s put me in charge of them and they’re rotating two new people in. I reluctantly agreed only because Phil wanted to keep the band together.  He thought after what occurred it would not be conducive to break the team apart.”

“AC’s awfully chatty considering he had a tube in his throat,” quipped Skye.

“They dialed back the good stuff until he was aware enough to write but not aware enough to rip the tube out. I was also there to translate,” Melinda explained.  “Fitz and Skye, you’re dismissed. Ward, I want to continue this conversation.”

“What are my instructions?” Ward asked after the two left the room.

 Melinda handed him a piece of paper. “Phil wrote this for you.”

Grant Ward opened the note.

**_Behave. No I told you so’s, no snarky comments about scientists not being fit field agents. Your team member has been through an ordeal.  You will assist her through this or I will Coulson your ass when I get back. Make no mistakes, I will be back and until then I will be watching. Phil._ **

He folded the note and put it in a pocket. He kept his face impassive, though inwardly he was angry. It was like the older agent didn’t trust him.

 _“Your lack of tact is legendary,”_ his inner voice reminded him.  “ _Your lack of empathy world renown. You voiced your annoyance at the Wonder Twins numerous times, so yes, he’s right to be concerned_.”

“From the look on your face, I’m assuming you and I got the same message,” Melinda said with some sympathy.  “I have messages for the entire team from Phil. Such a control freak.”

She crossed her arms, and tilted her head. “His message upset you?  You were quite vocal about FitzSimmons being a liability. You were right, because if she hadn’t been there, hadn’t stumbled, hadn’t fallen behind, Coulson wouldn’t be having brain surgery. You can tell me, I told you so.”

“And Amadour would have blown up,” he retorts.  

To Melinda’s deep surprise, Ward mentions other incidents where FitzSimmons has been an asset.  He storms off and Melinda shakes her head, “Phil, I think our boy is finally growing up.”

-=-

When Jemma woke, it was quite late, or early, so she decided it was best to get back into her routine as quickly as possible and return to the lab.  A cup of tea would be helpful, so she changed quickly and silently, but she still found herself wearing Coulson’s leather jacket when she was preparing a cuppa in the kitchen.

“Put some extra water in the kettle,” requested Melinda, who entered the kitchen while she was making her tea. “I prefer my water boiled in a kettle and not microwaved. I’m glad I caught you here, Phil instructed me to talk to you.”

“Can it wait? I was heading down to the lab,” Jemma insisted.

“No lab until you’re cleared by the doctors.  With all the attention on Phil, you slipped through the cracks, however, I did get a scan on you while you slept.  Looks like you’re mainly exhausted, but they’ll want to talk to you about what happened.”

Simmons just shook her head, as she didn’t want to talk to anyone about what happened.

“Tomorrow, which is actually this morning; you have an appointment with the doctors starting at nine.  I was told by Phil that if you are not waiting for me and Fitz to escort you at 8:45 AM, I am given carte blanche authority to do whatever I want to get you there. You will also be debriefed by Karla Sorenson at one.”

Simmons shook her head again.

“Phil gave me permission to tell you that he speaks with Karla twice a week since he came back. I also speak with Karla at least once a week. Now it’s mainly just to touch base, have a quick conversation. Also, you can always talk to me if you need someone.”

Really, the very idea that she’d share her feelings of inadequacy and blame with the one woman army known as Melinda May almost made her laugh.  Though she wasn’t sure if she did laugh if she would be able to stop.

 Fortunately the kettle began to whistle, so she was able not to answer as she poured the water into the two cups.

“They informed me that Phil’s surgery was a success. They removed the blood clots and rebuilt his face.  They don’t believe that there are any permanent neurological deficiencies though they can’t promise anything until after he wakes,” Melinda explained. “For now, I’m in charge of the team. We’re getting two temporary team members until you and Phil can be back in the field.”

“I’m never going back in the field again,” Simmons insisted.

Melinda didn’t laugh at her protest; instead she just nodded her head.

“Before they took Phil into surgery, he insisted that he write a commendation for your file.  It’s chicken scratch and near impossible to read, so he’ll have to rewrite it when he’s better. Also Fury would prefer if the commendation was more that ‘Done good’.”’

“I don’t deserve it.” It was the simple truth.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Monker for much needed input.

Jenna Simmons reports to Medical on the helicarrier. Fortunately, she hadn’t required Melinda to frog march her there, but she had walked slower than her norm. She feels like a freak show attraction as everyone is staring at her.

“You should have reported here yesterday,” Dr. Streiten snaps.

To Jemma’s surprise, Melinda interjects, “I’d like to request another doctor. Perhaps one with a degree in bedside manner?”

The fearsome and redoubtable Melinda May crosses her arms and stares down Streiten, who has the decency to look embarrassed and a tad afraid. Jemma wishes once more that she was as strong as Melinda.

“My apologies. It’s been a long day which started yesterday when your team arrived.  You did a good job getting Coulson here as quickly as you did. The bleeds were minor, fortunately, and we were able to stop them before permanent damage occurred. I don’t think he’ll like his new haircut, but it will grow out.” Streiten explained.

“Do you have any female providers?” Melinda asks.

Streiten nods his head in silent understanding, while Jemma is so terribly, terribly glad that Melinda had asked..

“I’ll ask Anita. She’ll meet you in the second room on the left.”

-=-=

Jemma quickly realized that Melinda May was not planning on leaving her side.  She did give the younger woman the courtesy of turning her back when Simmons changed into the exam gown.  That was it, as she then refused to leave the room.

“I’m staying,” Melinda finally announced.  “During the intake exam, it’s always good to have someone you know with you during the process. When I was extricated out of Bogotá, Phil stayed with me for the entire intake.  So it will be me, unless you prefer Ward.”

“No, he doesn’t like us,” she said.  Ward had always projected a thinly veiled contempt for FitzSimmons and recent events had proved that he had been correct.  There had been a slight thaw between Fitz and Ward after the two men had their little adventure with the separatists. However, she and Ward had never gotten particularly chummy.

To her surprise, Melinda shakes her head. “He’s got issues. The entire team has their idiosyncrasies, which is why Phil selected us.  It would be difficult for Phil to have a team full of perfectly well adjusted agents after dealing with the Avengers.”

While Jemma ponders that comment she is examined by Anita Robles, a pleasant Hispanic with a lightly accented voice.  The exam is thorough and she is glad when it is finished. She wasn’t anticipating some of the questions Anita would ask were the ones she had already been asked the very same ones.  No, she hadn’t been sexually assaulted. They had only torn her shirt and Agent Coulson, she is very careful to use his title, Agent Coulson had prevented more from occurring. She had been hit several times but once again, she mentions how Agent Coulson had protected her by shielding her from the worst.

Simmons refuses to admit to being drugged, because she’s not proud of what happened when she was under the influence.  No, she much rather forget the fact she had crawled into Agent Coulson’s lap, kissed him and flirted with him.

 ** _Flirted_**.  **_Badly,_** she might add.

Did everything except beg him to do the honors.

**_“Would you like to be mine?”_ **

God, he had been so ... nice... about it.  Claimed he was honored and flattered... Phil had even sounded a little regretful which had made it even worse for her.  And then the guards had torn her shirt, causing her to realize that IT would happen, in front of Coulson, she couldn’t even dare to look at him. But she had, just a brief look, and he had looked... so ... sad.

Not angry.

Just sad.

As though he had failed her.

\----

Simmons is diagnosed with assorted healing cuts and lacerations, physical exhaustion along with a bruised ankle. When Melinda asks if she wishes to visit Coulson, she’s reluctant but she finds herself tagging along after the force of nature known as Melinda.

She’s not sure what to anticipate when she’s in his room, but not what she sees when she enters the room. The normally lively Phil is just so **_still_**. His head is shaved, from what she can see of it, and he’s still vented. It doesn’t faze Melinda as she talks to him about what’s happening to the team and throws in some SHIELD gossip. But his very stillness, the harsh mechanical inhalation and exhalation of his ventilator assisted breathing disturbs Jenna greatly.

It’s her fault.

_“They’re planning on hurting me tomorrow. They’ll make you watch because they think you’ll talk then....I wish I was like Melinda... she’s brave. I’m just scared...she’d just glare at them and they’ll fall over dead. Please talk,” she whispers. “I’m terrified and... I would die if you.... watched them...”_

She curls up in a chair and says nothing.  She’s still wearing Coulson’s old leather jacket. It’s old, as it’s weathered and broken in. There’s even a patch on the inner lining, A patch that looks suspiciously like Captain American’s shield. And it smells like his cologne.

When Melinda is finishing motivating Phil to get well soon or else face her wrath, she informs Jemma that she’ll be back in ten minutes. After that proclamation, she abandons Jemma.  Leaving Jemma alone with Phil.

She should say something, even though she doubts that Phil can hear her.  Instead, she takes his hand, the one without the IV and she kisses it.  It’s the closest she’ll ever get to fulfill her naive crush, after all, but she needs to do something to express her thanks. The minutes drag by and she realizes that she must say something.

“Thank you,” is all that she can bring herself to say when she should say so much more, but she drops his hand when he squeezes it.

His eyes are still shut, fortunately, so it’s a reflexive action. Yes, that’s what it is. Nothing more.

But she leaves his room, and nearly runs into Melinda.

“Time for Karla,” Jemma cheerfully said. Her chipperness sounds fake even to herself, but Melinda just gives her a cup of tea.

-=-=-

“Just call me Karla,” is her introduction to the psychologist that she’s supposed to reveal all her deepest, darkest fears. Jemma answers questions when prompted but doesn’t volunteer anything and Karla nods her head when even gentle prompting leaves Jemma mute. She feels utterly talked out and exhausted.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, same time,” Karla informs her. “You did very well today.”

**_Tomorrow?_ **

When she leaves the office, she’s relieved that Melinda May isn’t waiting for her. Her relief lasts for a minute, as Skye and Ward appear. The dangerous duo seems very pleased with themselves, which means trouble.

“How about pizza?” Skye asks as she takes her left side.

“Or Thai?” Ward inserts from her right.

“It’s movie night on the bus,” continues Skye. “Your pick.”

They escort her to the bus and she gratefully exhales once she’s back in a familiar area. Familiar and safe. It’s almost like a nest, a cocoon of safety, as her team surrounds her, accepts what she will say and won’t say and... she feels .. safe for the first time in far too long, except there’s an empty seat at the table that no one mentions.

There is Thai and Italian, and dear, dear Fitz, her soul brother in geekiness, has selected all her favorite movies for movie night. He even provided her favorite comfort food, a rhubarb apple crumble just like her mum’s.

But the very normality of it all greatly disturbs her.  She wants to slip back into being Jemma Simmons, but the very fit of being Jemma is off. There are sharp, jagged edges where there once were smooth curves and... and...  she feels as though is bleeding from a thousand minute cuts. However, they’ve done so much for her that she feels obligated to stay, when she much rather hide in her bunk,

After she pleads exhaustion, she retreats back to her bunk. It’s not the widest of beds, but she’s able to twist and contort herself into the fetal position. It’s easier for her to pretend that Coulson is lying next to her, intent on protecting her, rather than facing the truth. That’s he’s post op, lying in a hospital bed because of her.

-=-=

Jemma doesn’t sleep for long, so instead she finds her way to her lab.  She’s been away for a while, so it probably needs a little tidying.  There’s dust everywhere, which simply will not do, as she does not wish a memo from Coulson reminding them that the bus is a privilege so to keep it clean. She energetically cleans her work area as is quite dusty.

She hopes it will help clear her mind and exhaust her body so she can sleep, but she is distracted. She remembers where she stood when Phil had called her Jemma first the time, when she was ill from the alien virus or how she had miserably failed at flirting with him. Her feeble flirtation of “Fantastic shape for a man of your age,” had earned her a grimace and a hurt “That’s what you say to **_old_** people.”

She scrubs and scrubs at her workstation, until it gleams. Everything is ship shape, she sits at her examining table and she wonders what to do next at three in the morning.

Nothing to do, except keep company with her dark thouhts.

When Melinda May enters the lab, a startled Jemma nearly falls off her chair. Melinda ignores her jitteriness and Mama Duck Melinda gives Simmons a hot steaming cuppa.

They drink in silence for a bit and then Melinda speaks. “It ... gets better.  Some days it will be worse, and some days, it wouldn’t be so bad. Then in time, you realize that the not so bad days outweigh the really bad days.”

“And the good days?” Jemma asks.

“Cherish them.”

-=-=

Melinda May, Mama Duck, gives her ducklings an assignment. Someone is to be with Simmons at all times, within reason.  Fitz is easiest, as he brings his latest toys and magazines to Jemma and they have a rapid fire conversation that she can’t understand. When that’s done, the FitzSimmons watches “The Princess Bride” and quotes the movie verbatim. But is there tenseness in Simmons, as though her formerly tight bond with Fitz has been strained?

Skye decides a pedicure in a god awful shade will cure what ails Jemma. Melinda watches, carefully, and she realizes that she’s not sure how the two women act normally when they’re together, let alone after such a trauma. However, the two of them chitchat and giggle as the proper Jemma is mortified by the various polish names. Really, Red Thong in Divorce Court? Limbo Bimbo? Big Daddy?  Melinda decides that she’ll need to keep her eyes on that pair if for no other reason that for the gossip alone.

Ward is difficult.  He’s not sociable, but Melinda sees him in an unguarded moment with Jemma. The two of are sitting next to each other on the couch and she can see how Simmons seems...  close to sleep. She’s still wrapped in Coulson’s jacket, but she’s not hiding in her bunk, at least.

Hmm... She feels safe with Ward, safe enough to sleep, so Melinda decides once again that there’s potential for Ward. But Jemma’s wearing Coulson’s jacket still.

She needs to sound out Jemma, for she understands a great deal of what the younger woman is experiencing.   However, she worries that she isn’t the right person for the job, because she has never ever been as young as Jemma Simmons is.

Her chicks accounted for, she returns to Coulson’s hospital ward as they are removing the tube today.

-=-

“Cough,” orders Streiten. Coulson does so and the various technicians murmur about whatever his cough has revealed. There is a very serious frown and a headshake.

“Put a little backbone in,” snaps Melinda, so he coughs harder and Streiten approvingly nods his head.

“Went into the wrong field,” the doctor opines, while Coulson shakes his head. If Melinda serving cookies during an interrogation was enough to cause near heart failure in a Boy Scout, he’d hate to imagine Melinda in the healing arts.

“Keep breathing,” the doctor orders as he pulls the tube out of Phil’s throat.

His first instinct is to panic, but he’s been through this before, and not so long ago. Keep breathing, he reminds himself and he keeps breathing until the panic fades. Fortunately, Phil keeps breathing so the various medical personnel leave the room, so it’s just Melinda and him.

“You have quite the reputation, Phil. No one thought it odd that you were able to transcribe novel length notes while they were prepping you for brain surgery,” Melinda quips.

He laughs, but it hurts and he coughs, earning a headshake of disapproval.

“I knew what you wanted to say to them, so I just scribbled it for you,” she admits. “Simmons came out physically ok, bruises, cuts and her ankle. She’s emotionally as well as you would expect her to be. Just so you know, you insisted that she be permitted to stay with the team instead of being reassigned for treatment. You are really **_quite_** demanding, Phil.”

Again, Coulson smiled.

“Glad you got my six,” he rasped.

“Karla agreed as she thinks separating FitzSimmons would be a poor idea right now. We’re allocated Singh and Diaz temporarily. They’re... _solid_... so it will be good. Our next mission hasn’t been assigned yet.”

“Thank you for visiting. Though next time, don’t curse me out when I’m ‘snowed’,” he quipped. “They only gave me enough of the good stuff to keep me floating, not under a glacier.”

“You heard everything?” Melinda had the grace to look concerned as she had been rather... derogatory.

“Stupid idiot was the kindest. I think there was a rather acidic comment about an old man needing to prove his virility?” Phil asked. He pondered that quote for a moment and then smiled. “That was you, not Skye or Ward. I couldn’t really understand Fitz, as he was being rather Scottish.”

“Coulson, her crush on you,” Melinda begins.

“The two of us discussed it in the cell. They drugged her with a truth serum and... I know about it from her,” Coulson rasped. “She also knows nothing will ever come of it. I assured her that I was honored and flattered.”

“Phil, you’re such a man.” Melinda snorts her disgust.

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.” Again, he coughs a laugh and Melinda shakes her head.

“Her crush on you is part of the problem she’s having right now.”

“Didn’t lead her on,” he protested.

“No, that’s part of the problem. You’re polite, sincere and respectful, you always smell good.” That earned an amused snort from Coulson, fortunately, sans coughing. “She admits that she has a crush on you. Then you do a Coulson...”

“More of a Romanoff,” he inserted.  “With a bit of Banner.”

“In order to protect her.”

“They threatened to rape her in front of me so I’d talk.” He closed his eyes as he remembered how a terrified Jemma has asked him to please talk, the moment when the enormity of what was about to occur had crystallized for Jemma. He needed a moment to compose himself and then he continued. “You’re wrong. I would have done the same if it had been you.”

“I **_know_** and I would be grateful, even though I’d lambast you for letting your personal emotions overrule your head. Now, get some sleep,” she orders. “She’s feeling guilty right now. Plus I don’t think her crush has abated, not one bit. Be careful with her, Coulson.”

“I never comment on the fact that the 2/3 of the team has a crush on you,” he protested. “I never tell you to be careful.”

“I thought it was just Ward, Fitz and Skye. Who is the fourth?” Melinda asked. Then she narrowed her lips in disapproval. “You do **_not_** have a crush on me. **_Philip Jonathan Coulson_**.”

“The way you kick down barn doors?  I’m such a fan boy,” he dryly admitted. “I want to be Melinda May when I grow up, though I’d prefer to keep on being a boy. Changing the subject, if you bring the team by, call ahead and warn them to cover my head. I look like Frankenstein with all these sutures.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Kids haven’t,” Phil retorted

In response, Melinda re-arranged his blanket and sighed, “You can’t protect them forever. You can’t wrap them in bubble wrap.”

“I know,” he admitted. Then after a long time alone with his thoughts, he asks, “Where we ever that young?”

-=-

Agents Singh and Diaz are a pair, in every sense of the word, so they fit in nicely with each other.   They also mesh well with everyone else on the bus, but Jemma feels a sense of betrayal.  Shouldn’t there be a little loyalty for Agent Coulson?

The team had trooped into see Agent Coulson before their first mission without him. He had been fresh from the operating theatre, so he had been tired and groggy. It had been quite the rowdy party in his room, so the nurse had called security and  requested that the entire team be escorted off the floor.

She hadn’t had a chance to talk with Agent Coulson as security had been quite insistent. Besides being paged after them being in the room for only three minutes. So as she left the room, she had pretended not to hear Coulson’s soft, “Simmons?”

She’s in her bunk, curled up with a book, when her Stark Pad chimes. It’s her email alarm, so she reaches for it.

It’s from Coulson. Her stomach falls to her toes and she swallows. Nervously.

She taps on the email.

_Hi._

_Nurse Ratched is permitting me the use of a computer for a few minutes. Let me know how you’re doing._

_Phil_

Really. It should be horribly simple to send him a quick email. Just a quick note, nothing too in-depth.  She carefully types.

_Phil._

No, no, too informal.

_Agent  Coulson._

Too formal.

_Dear Phil._

_Better, but still not quite right._

Well, perhaps she can decide what salutation to use when she actually has something to say, so she saves her response in her draft folder. There’s work to be done, so she decides to go to the lab.

The next afternoon, there’s another email in her inbox.

_Not sure if I have the right email for you. But it hasn’t bounced back – how are you doing?_

_Phil_

She’ll write him tomorrow.

But tomorrow, she’s busy, busy, busy as the team is on a mission, so her skills are needed. It’s important that she’s useful so she works until very late at night, almost early morning to complete the analysis. The next day there is still more to analyze so she works in her lab until she’s physically exhausted enough to sleep.

Two weeks go by with daily emails from Phil until finally, nothing.

A week worth of no emails from Phil.

Well, while she worried about him, there are enough astringent comments from May for her to realize that Phil is still emailing.

Another week of no emails, which is quite good. It’s giving her plenty of time to write Phil... Agent Coulson... back.  She has plenty of drafts saved.  Several of them even have sentences. One even has a full paragraph. It took her hours to type it though it says nothing.

Then the radio silence (email silence?) ends.

_Jemma._

_Please tell me how you’re doing._

_I won’t email you again, as your silence says so much. Just tell me how you’re doing._

_I’m deeply concerned. If you need anything, let me know._

_Please._

_Phil_

Jemma wishes she could tell him the truth. That she’s trying hard to keep it all together but she feels herself fragmenting from the stress and the guilt.  She can’t tell Agent Coulson that... because she knows that he’ll feel responsible.

Grant Ward had caught her unawares in the kitchen, and for a moment, she had gotten confused. Instead of his familiar features, in his place, there had been the dark haired HYDRA agent who had torn her shirt.  She had stepped back, and in that moment, she had realized. 

 ** _Safe_**.

 She was on the bus, with her team.  A team that she didn’t gel with as well as she once had. Even her relationship with Fitz had changed. Fitz has been watching her, a bit too closely, after she had snapped at him when Sleepy had buzzed her.

“Get that bloody thing away from me,” she protested as it did loopy-doops around her head. She swatted at it and Fit had looked wounded.

Really, it was just a machine, why the sad puppy dog eyes?

“I was just trying out the new rotational gyrospheres,” he excitedly exclaimed. “You hit it and damaged Sleepy.”

“Just keep it from buzzing me,” she retorted. “Shoo!”

Sleepy went back to its fellow brother drones with a soft purr and Leo Fitz looked at her. His expressive face is full of concern and he reminds her of Coulson at that moment. So much that she can’t bear to look at him. “How are you? And don’t lie to me.”

“I’m....” she began.

“Look, I know you've been through a lot, and, you probably don't want to talk about it. But, if you ever DO want to talk about it, I will listen.” Leo Fitz said that quickly, so quickly that Simmons almost didn’t understand what he said. “I also want you to know that if I had been there, I would have protected you. Like Coulson did.”

“I know you would,” she says, because she knows Fitz would have.

“I wouldn’t be able to take out an entire Hydra base with a wooden chair, but I would have gotten you out. Jemma, please talk to me,” he pleaded. “You seem so distant. I want Simmons back.”

“I can’t. “ She desperately wants to talk with someone, but she can’t share her convoluted feelings with Leo Fitz.  He’s... too... innocent.   Like she had been, before...

“What can I do for you?” he asks.

“Help me keep it together,” she pleads. “I can’t let them know that I’m having problems as they’ll take me off the team. I **_want_** to be here. I **_need_** to be here.”

Her work is keeping her functioning. She fears that they will take it away from her and she will have nothing but the memories and a Stark Pad full of draft messages.

He nods his head and she relaxes.  She should have trusted Leo, but... she’s changed.

“If there was anyone,” she begins.

“I know,” he says. “Best mates.”

-=-

A few weeks later.

 There have been several more failed attempts at emailing Phil, but they are still in her draft folder. There are several dozen of them, ranging from just the salutation to seven sentences. Seven disparaging sentences full of her upset and self-blame.

_It’s my fault you were hurt. I just wish I could ..._

“AC’s back tomorrow,” Skye announces during their weekly poker game. Simmons looks Melinda who says nothing but who was wearing a slight smile.

Jemma knows that she needs to return Coulson’s jacket by tomorrow. She should do it now, but she’s wearing it and it would be obvious if she returned it during the middle of the game. Perhaps, she’ll fold her hand, claim an early night and return his jacket to Lola.

“He won’t be allowed on any combat missions, but he’ll be allowed to handle the paperwork,” Melinda admits.

The gang cheers and Jemma tries to smile.

“Actually, I’m back now,” said a familiar voice in a very stern tone. “You’ve gotten sloppy. I got on the bus and no one stopped me.”

He’s grinning, and he’s thinner, but it is most assuredly Phil Coulson who is standing in the doorway. He’s dressed in a suit, but there’s a new addition to his outfit. He’s wearing a fedora, set at a rakish angle.

“What’s with the hat?” Melinda asks. “You look like a G-man.”

“My hair is really short.  I haven’t worn a high and tight in decades, and I can’t carry it off. Plus the surgical site scars are rather obvious. I find it makes some people uncomfortable. So, can I play?”

He is warmly welcomed back home with a few hugs (Skye, Melinda and to Simmons’ great surprise, Ward hugs Coulson) and a firm forearm clasp, (Fitz) and then he faces her. She’s not sure what to do, so he squeezes her hand.

Coulson leans her way while everyone’s moving around so Coulson can sit and he whispers, “You never contacted me while I was out. I wrote you, you never wrote back. And you’ve stolen my leather jacket.”

She flinches and he smiles. “Don’t worry. Wear it as long as you need. The bus is rather chilly.”

He sits next to her at the table, his legs bumping with hers, and they’re close enough to be sitting hip to hip.

-=-

Simmons never realized how impossible it was to hide from someone on the bus, until she attempts to flee from Phil.  He catches her once, and he’s about to say something, but instead he says nothing. He just looks at her, still wearing his too large leather jacket and he _says nothing_.

But he looks so sad.

-=-

The team is called in for a debriefing on their first assignment with Phil back in charge.  It’s really rather simple, a nice, easy extraction, so Jemma will have to do nothing.

 “Dismissed,” Coulson announces. The team makes a quick retreat but then she hears, “Agent Simmons, I need to speak to you.”

He points at the chair in front of his desk and he’s busy scribbling.

“Fitz, I only need Simmons for this conversation,” he announces.

Fitz looks plaintive and Simmons gives him a quick smile. Coulson continues to write until Fitz leaves.  The pen is placed on the desk with a loud click and Jemma attempts to fake a smile. Coulson holds up his finger, aka The Finger of Coulson Censure. He pulls out a folder from a desk, and begins to count papers.  Silently.

“One, two, three...” he mouths.  By the time he’s done, he’s easily in the double digits.  When he’s done, he hands the paperwork back to her. “Your resignations. **_Denied_**. Your requests for transfer. **_Denied_**.”

She hangs her head.

“I want to clear the air between us,” Coulson says. “Is there any particular reason you’re avoiding me? Why you’ve submitted your resignation? Requested transfers?”

She says nothing.

“It’s a small bus. The others will notice if you flee the room every time I enter, that you’re the last one to arrive at our meetings, and the first to leave. You look exhausted. How are you? How are you processing recent events? Do you need someone to talk with?”

Again, she says nothing.

“Are you embarrassed?”  His voice is soft and compassionate.  “Don’t be. I sincerely found it very flattering.”

Yes, that why he’s never alone with her. Why Melinda always chaperones them.   He sits next to her and instinctively, she pulls away from him. His eyes slightly in surprise... and in hurt?

“Or is it something else?  Are you afraid of me? Don’t be. I’m still Phil Coulson, like I’ve always been. Just a little more banged up. A few more scars.”

Scars that are her fault.  A road map of scars which he hides with a hat whenever he’s in the room with her.  He doesn’t wear the hat when he’s with Melinda or Ward.

Just when he’s with the kids.

“When you feel comfortable talking to me, you know where I am,” he finally says after a long silence. “Dismissed.”

She flees, like he’s the very devil himself. He’s not sure how to proceed when Melinda appears.

“Simmons’ upset. What happened?”

He shakes his head in defeat and Melinda says nothing.

-=-=

Her inner tension mounts over the next few weeks. At first, Coulson tries to talk to her, but she brushes him off, claiming that she’s always busy. Then he stops making the effort, limiting their conversations to the case at hand.  When she’s unable to manage more than a few words, he starts leaving the room when she enters.  If she comes in for tea in the kitchen, and he’s there, having coffee, he’ll return back to his office by the time her tea is done.

He stops attending movie nights and the poker nights, and he infrequently attends the communal meals.  When they meet in the various locations in the bus, he says hello and nothing more. 

While her life is biochemistry, she is not a firm believer in better living by biochemistry, so the prescribed pills have been left in the bottle. Tonight, tonight she decides she’d like to sleep, so she takes two, in the hopes of a deep, restorative sleep. She hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in what seems like months.

Instead, she has nightmares.  She wakes screaming, as the guard yanks at her shirt while Coulson watches and she relives Coulson getting bludgeoned with the butt of a M16 over and over again. Though in these dreams, he smiles a bloody grin at her and says, “You never emailed me. I endured all this for you, to protect you and you couldn’t be bothered to email me. I thought you fancied me.”

The guard raises the gun....

 She starts to weep and she realizes that everyone is standing outside her bunk.

“Everyone can leave, I’ll handle this,” Coulson says in a calm voice. “That means you, Fitz.”

“But,” Fitz protests. However he is silenced by the Coulson Finger of Chastisement.

There is silence and then everyone is leaving the area while Simmons continues to cry.

“I’m sitting on your bed and my feet will be on the floor. Here, have my handkerchief,” he offers. “A good cry is usually what the doctor ordered. Let it out. ”

Coulson moves to the opposite end of her bunk and he places his back against the wall.

“I spoke with Karla today.  You skipped the last three meeting with her claiming world emergencies. You’re not getting the help you need, so I’m letting you win this battle of wills between us. Make no mistake that I’m up to fighting you on this but your mental health is more important to me than winning. Therefore, I’m finally agreeing to your sixteenth transfer request, which means I’ll likely lose Fitz. However, there are two conditions attached. First one, you’re speaking with Karla every day until the team goes on furlough. Second one is I promised you a celebratory weekend of jazz, dinner, separate hotel rooms after we left the Hydra Hilton. You prefer Boston? Or DC?”

“You ...” She just wants to retreat and heal. “Don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. Because you and I will hash this out between the two of us.  I thought we had a good working relationship. You’d talk about concepts I couldn’t wrap my brain around and I’d tell you to make it happen. Dare I admit that I thought we were friends? I was mistaken as you never answered any of my emails. Not one single one. Are you that embarrassed? I told no one.  I assured you that I was honored and I was flattered. I was sincerely flattered and I would never take advantage...”

He runs of steam and he stops.

“When you’re off the bus and back in your lab, remember, I **_let_** you win.”

 Jemma says nothing.

“I worried about you because you were thrown into a situation you should not have been.  I agonized because I didn’t know if you were getting the help you needed. I would have done anything to help you; if you weren’t comfortable talking to Karla, I would have found someone else at SHIELD.  I... You just wouldn’t or couldn’t answer me. Instead, you went around me with easily two dozen transfer or resignation requests,” Phil stops talking and takes a deep breath. “So my only question is... Boston or DC?”

“You don’t...” It’s a weak protest.

“I keep my promises,” he softly interjected.

“You do,” Simmons says.

“Part of my promise to you was that I would protect you. In my mind, that means I must protect you from yourself. You’re relieved of duty effective immediately.”

“Don’t take the labs from me, I’ll be stronger,” she promises.

“You’ve been very, very strong, Jemma. Now let me take over,” Phil said to her. “I backed off as I could sense how uneasy you were with me near you. I shouldn’t have, but I thought it would be easier if you didn’t have to face a constant reminder of HYDRA Hilton on an hourly basis. Now, I am not ordering you, but I am asking you to please see Melinda so she can give you something so you can sleep.”

“Will you escort me to Medical?” Jemma whispers.

“I will **_not_** escort you...” Coulson paused and then in a softer tone, “I’ll walk with you.”

She stands and to her surprise, Coulson puts his hand on her shoulder.

“I wanted to be....” she stops and shakes her head. “I wanted to handle this like you and Melinda would have.”

“You’re not Melinda and you’re not me, so you should handle it the way Jemma Simmons would. You didn’t fail. The only person that failed in this was me, because I should have tried to get you help earlier. If you had only answered me, just once. Come, let’s go to Medical. Do you want me to stay with you until you’re asleep?”

“Would you?” She whispers.

“Yes.”

* * *

 

Melinda is waiting for her in Medical.  Jemma Simmons sits on the bed and feels like a complete failure. She is completely exhausted and wishes she could sleep for the next week.

“Just a small pinch,” Melinda informs her even as she feels the pinprick. “Go to sleep, Jemma.”

The two senior agents help her recline and Jemma reaches for Melinda’s hand.

“You told me that it gets better.  Some days it will be worse, and some days, it wouldn’t be so bad. Then in time, I would realize that the not so bad days outweigh the really bad days. You told me to cherish the good days, but I haven’t had one yet.”

Jemma Simmons looks at Phil and she whispers, “I want a good day. Just one, where I’m not afraid.”

“You’ll have one,” he promises, even as he covers Jemma with a blanket. In a very soft voice, he adds, “Now, sleep. I’ll watch over you while you sleep.”

The exhausted Jemma falls asleep quickly and Phil Coulson pulls up a chair so he’s sitting next to her bed.

He stays, until she wakes.  


	3. 3

Thanks to Monker as always.

* * *

 

The three Stooges aka Skye, Fitz and Ward were having a private conversation while Melinda, Phil and Simmons were in Medical.

“You shouldn’t have been listening,” Ward protested  

“I was just standing by air vent,” insisted Skye. “For someone who works for Big Brother, I’m rather surprised by that attitude. Shall we all reflect on your unique perception of the ethics of spying?”

“Cut the semantics. What did he say?” Fitz inserted.

Sky shook her head. “AC said that was he’s letting Simmons win. That’s she’s finally getting the transfer request approved by him, because he thinks it would be healthier for her not to have to deal with him as a constant reminder every day. He thinks Fitz will leave the team also,” she repeated and she and Ward both stared at Fitz who just shrugged his shoulders.

“What else?” Ward asked.

“He believes that he failed her because he didn’t get her help. But he’s upset because she never responded to any of his emails. That’s odd, as because I saw her typing to him. Well, I saw her working on the opening line.”

Well, she had watched Jemma spend fifteen minutes on her salutation. Jemma had compulsively changed it from Dear Agent Coulson to Dear Phil to Phil then Coulson before returning back to Agent Coulson.

“I did too,” Ward admitted. “I thought she had settled on ‘Dear Agent Coulson’.”

“She never sent them,” Fitz said. “If she wrote them, she never sent them.”

Melinda May entered the room and the three of them pretended not to be discussing Jemma. Melinda decided to play along, but to still give them information. “Jemma will be staying in Medical tonight.”

To her surprise, not only did Fitz and Skye offer to stay with Jemma, but Ward did also.

“Coulson has decided that he’s staying with her.”

* * *

 

Coulson intently watches Jemma Simmons sleep during the night. Unlike their time in the Hydra Hilton, she is sleeping peacefully and _soundly_. She isn’t thrashing or moaning in her sleep. Simmons hasn’t woken once during the night, so he probably doesn’t need to be here, watching here. However, just in case she wakes, he will try to soothe her back to sleep.

Is there a slight smile on her face? As though she is having happy dreams? For her sake, he hopes she is. He’s always been protective of his team, but Jemma Simmons had struck a chord with him. Poor Simmons, terribly mortified over her drug induced confession.

He had been flattered.

Still was, because really, most smart, attractive, young women went for the Grant Wards of the world. Phil knows that he had never been particularly handsome or charming, so he hadn’t even thought of someone like Jemma viewing him in that way.

Sexually attractive.  Phil Coulson.  Never mentioned in the same paragraph, let alone in the same sentence.

Now that he was modeling a nearly foot long scar after nearly being vivisected by an alien with Daddy issues, the odds were even poorer.

Did he mention that he was flattered?

It had put a spring in his step when he had realized. Though nothing could come of it, because she was in her late twenties, and he ... wasn’t... He was old enough to be her father, and when she had asked him to be her first, he had been flattered, tempted, surprised, honored...  Naturally, it could never happen between them.

Though being older, Phil had enough experience to ensure that her first time...

 ** _NO_**.

He realized that he better stop that thought train right and then, because _it simply wasn’t ever gonna happen._

The old Phil Coulson wouldn’t have even given it a second thought. He would have gently turned down Jemma, and that would have been it. Forgotten by both of them.  This new Phil thought and pondered entirely too goddamn much.

He remembered how she looked when Jenna had pleaded _, “I want a good day. Just one, where I’m not afraid._ ”

He will give her a good day.   A good weekend, in fact. Dinner, dancing, Boston. Separate hotel rooms. A bottle of Krug Champagne will help ensure that he’ll give her a goddamn excellent weekend if it’s the last thing he does.

Because he broke his vow to keep her safe.

And like hell, will he break another promise.

Maybe, just maybe, if it’s a perfect weekend, they can be friends again.  It certainly will help his guilt. 

While she is waking, he quickly leaves the room. By the time he reached his office, Melinda advises him that Simmons is once again sleeping and that she'll stay with her.

It's good to have Melinda on his team,

* * *

 

The next morning, Skye, Fitz and Grant were called into Coulson’s office and a guilty Skye panicked, thinking ‘He knows. He knows that I was eavesdropping.’

Coulson was staring at the desk, and Skye noticed that he looked exhausted.  He also didn’t look up when he spoke to them.

“I’ll be blunt. Simmons has requested a transfer off the team. I’ve accepted it, with regret. She’ll be leaving us after we furlough in one week. For now, while she is still part of team, any requests for her assistance will be sent through Agent May where she will decide if Agent Simmons’ assistance is necessary.  Dismissed. Except for Fitz.” His tone was flat.

Ward, being the dutiful SHIELD agent immediately vacated while a nervous looking Fitz stayed behind. Skye, being Skye, lagged behind so she could eavesdrop. She ignored Ward’s curt gesture to vacate.  Really for a spy, Ward had weird ethics. She’d mock him later as it was fun to rile him.

“If you’re wondering if I’m staying on the team. I’m not sure,” Fitz admitted. “I’ve worked with Simmons for most of my career at SHIELD.”

That earned him a curt nod from Coulson.

“If you decide you want a transfer, you will go through me,” Phil stated.  “Dismissed.”

A Fitz, who looked as though he had barely escaped unhurt from a den of hungry lions, bounded like a gazelle out of the room, but Skye returned back to the room and stood in front of Coulson’s desk. Meanwhile Coulson continued to stare at the paperwork on his desk.

“AC?” she prompted.

“You’re dismissed.” His voice was bleaker than when he announced Jemma Simmons was leaving the team.  He picked up a pen and began to write.

That did it. 

It was obvious Coulson was in need of a good swift kick in the ass, and she was the perfect person to deliver it. Well, since Melinda May wasn’t available.  And Ward wouldn’t do it and well, Fitz... ok, she was the only person willing to deliver it.

“Cut the RoboCoulson,” Skye insisted.“You’re letting our little team break up? Didn’t you try to stop her? Where’s the ‘We’re a team’ spirit? Team members stick together during thick and thin.”

He said nothing but continued to write.

“You’re just letting her leave?” A disbelieving Skye asked. “Did you even try to talk her out of it? She obviously needs help and you’re just **_letting_** her leave.”

 ** _Crack_**.

Skye realized that she had hit a nerve when Coulson snapped the pen with his fingers.  She also regretted the look on his face as he’s angry. The anger wasn't directed at her, but at himself. Not because of the broken pen, but because he takes his role as team lead very seriously. Coulson believed that he’s failed in his role as Papa Bear.

“She tried to email you.” Skye softly, and truth be told, **_warily,_** offered that small comfort.  “She really did try.”

“Simmons has made it quite clear that she wishes to leave the team,” RoboCoulson stated.  The brief flash of anger has been completely repressed, leaving a cold mannequin that looks like AC in its place. Skye has witnessed Phil Coulson shutting down only once before, and it had been because of... Miles...  That cold, calm, **_composed_** Coulson had badly frightened her and now he was **_back_**.  “I have agreed because I believe it would be best for her.”

“You gave up on her?” Skye whispered in true disbelief. The shock of determined Coulson giving up on Simmons shook her to very core. Because if Coulson deemed Simmons, poster child SHIELD agent, as unsalvageable, then where does that leave Skye?  “Oh my God, AC, you gave up on her?”

Skye has never learned when to back down or when not to push an issue.   But one look at Coulson’s blazing eyes which belied his calm composure, made her realize that she was dangerously close to stepping over a line that should never be crossed.

_**Do not ever provoke Phil Coulson unless you're feeling suicidal.** _

“ ** _She_** gave up on **_herself_**. You’re **_dismissed_**.”

What frightened her the most about RoboAC is that he didn’t raise his voice.

Skye decided it wise to leave Coulson’s office, and did so quickly.

* * *

Phil Coulson, being Level 8, has the ability to read anyone’s email on the bus. He never has, because there’s a level of trust he’s built with his team. It seems... rude... to read their private email. Yet, Skye’s voice is in his head.

_‘She tried to email you. She really did try.’_

Well, he’d like to see them, just so he can figure out how to best help Jemma Simmons. He downloads them to his pad and he begins to read.

Her drafts make no sense to him.  The majority of them merely consist of salutations.

_Phil._

_Dear Phil,_

_Dear Agent Coulson._

A few emails actually had something more.

_Phil,_

_I’ve tried so many times to answer your emails but... but... No, no, no. Start it off with a joke.  A funny thing happened on the bus yesterday. Agent Singh cooked and it was so spicy that May threatened to throw him out of the bus._

_No, no, no.  It sounds like we don’t miss him._

_Hi Phil,_

_Sorry haven’t responded. Been busy saving the world...._

 An hour later, after reading all of her drafts to him several times, he’s no closer to figuring out a way to help her. However, he’s beginning to understand why she shuts down when he’s near. It was in her last email that she had attempted to write.

_I have nightmares where I’m back in the cell with you... and I cannot sleep for more than an hour or so at a time. I wake, and I wish you were lying next to me, because I’d feel safe enough to sleep.  Fitz is helping me. I need dear, sweet Fitz, to help me keep it together. I have to keep it together; else they’ll take me out of the lab._

_I need my lab. It’s the only thing I can control. Everything else is falling apart, but my lab isn’t._

_I’m scared that I’m losing it. Inscrutable, undecipherable Agent May watches me, and I’m worried what she thinks, who she’ll report to. I worry that she’ll report everything back to you.  I hope she doesn’t. You need to focus on your health, not me._

_Doing fine._

_Really I am._

_Just busy processing everything. I worry... though... how you’ll think of me when you get back._

_I fear I’ve lost your respect. I hope I haven’t.  I was so weak in the cell while you kept it together._

_You’ll never see this email, as this is like the countless others that I’ve written and never sent._

_I’m afraid to meet you again.  I fear to see contempt in your eyes.  
_

Since he’s the problem, he needs to fix it.

Somehow.

Because he knows what it’s like to feel like a jigsaw puzzle missing pieces. To be incomplete and to feel...  unfamiliar in one’s skin.

Truth demands that he admits that’s why he chose FitzSimmons for the mission. There were other SCI-OPS agents who were field certified, but they weren’t as... ALIVE.... blazingly alive and COMPLETE as FitzSimmons had seemed to be. The post-New York Phil Coulson had deeply envied that.

And he had helplessly watched as Simmons had come undone.

Because if he couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty Coulson back together again, it stank of hubris if he thought he could help Jemma.  He needed to speak with Karla and ask for advice.

* * *

 

After two very long naps that last nearly a day, Jemma wakes to discover the team is working a mission and she’s not involved.  There’s alien gunk involved, exciting alien gunk and it’s alive and it’s green and it’s doing everything but wave at her and calling her name and ... and..  it’s... completely and utterly off limits.

Her helpful suggestions on how to categorize the green goo earns her an escort by Phil away from the lab area.

“You’re off active duty,” he gently reminds her as they enter the kitchen. “Have some tea before you talk to Karla. Take a seat.”

She sits while Phil makes her tea.

“Splash...” she begins.

“Splash of milk,” he says. “I know how you like your tea.”

He presents it to her and he sits next to her, effectively blocking her escape.

‘Since everyone is downstairs with the big glob of green goo, we can talk about our exciting weekend in Boston that I need to plan. Do you like museums? There’s a Museum of Science, though you’d probably know too much and would snicker at the tour guide.”

She says nothing and he continues, “I mean, jazz clubs are nice, but they’re not open in the morning normally.”

He quirks a smile at her and she nods her head.

“Your meeting with Karla will be in my office so you can have privacy. I also spoke with Karla earlier and expressed my willingness to sit in on any of your discussions if she felt it helpful.”

“No, sir, you don’t have to do that,” Jemma insists.  

“I explained how you were obviously uncomfortable with me being in the same space as you, so she suggested ...  board games. Or cards. Or even just have a caffeine break for the two of us. Something where the two of us will have to interact with each other in a less stressful environment. Karla obviously doesn’t know what a card shark you are.”

The intercom buzzes and Fitz asks in a rather strained tone, “Agent Coulson, can you come to the lab please?” There are loud noises in the background and assorted curses from Grant Ward.

“Be there in five,” Coulson confirms. He shakes his head and sighs, “If it’s sentient alien goo and it’s reciting ‘ _Also sprach Zarathustra’,_ I’m tossing it out the airlock. _”_

She laughs. She can't help herself, because Phil Coulson is terribly, terribly wry.

"I've missed hearing that." He stands and gives her a gentle smile. “Schedule our 1:1 time for board games.”

“Yes, Sir,” she agrees.

“And Jemma, I’m promising you that you’ll have a weekend full of good days in Boston. In fact, I am working on a weekend of truly excellent days.”


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for Monker. All SPaG errors are Selmak's. :)

By the time Coulson gets to the lab, the gob of Green Ecto Organic Radiated Goop has been christened _**George**_ , and it has started to purr. Melinda informs him in a deadpan voice, "The kids want a pet. They've named him George, the gigantic gob of green alien goop."

"Crap, they named it? I hate when they do that." Naming is bad, because that means they're growing attached to the big pile of goop. No pets allowed on the bus. None. None at all.

"Worse than that, they fed it. That was all the excitement was about. It put a tentacle into Ward's coffee mug. It seems to like coffee."

"No, no, no," Phil protests. "George is too young to drink coffee. Oh good God, did I just call it George?"

"You did," she agrees. "The kids wanted Jemma to see George but I told them no."

"You're calling him 'George'," he points out.

It's reassuring in a vague sort of way that Melinda has fallen under George's sway. And yet, again, it most assuredly isn't.

"Well, I kept Simmons away from 'George'."

"Thank you," he said. Of all team, only Melinda knows that he's relieved Simmons of active duty. The rest think that her status is in limbo because of her transfer. That, if necessary and Agent May approves, they can still call on her for help. Her draft emails where she had expressed her fear that she was falling apart had convinced him that he needed to get her out of the field and into Karla's office for intensive therapy.

_Fitz is helping me. I need dear, sweet Fitz, to help me keep it together. I have to keep it together; else they'll take me out of the lab. I need my lab. It's the only thing I can control. Everything else is falling apart, but my lab isn't. I'm scared that I'm losing it._

He knows that he had failed at protecting her in the cell because the guards had hurt her. Now that they were out, Phil Coulson is refusing to fail Jemma Simmons again.

He had figured it was a kindness and less embarrassing to Jemma that her former team members believe that she was inactive due to being placed on another team. Naturally that was before George appears and disrupts his best laid plans and they are in a dire need of a biochemist. "I think we need to tag it and bag it."

* * *

It quickly becomes apparent to one and to all that George does not wish to be tagged.

George really doesn't desire to be bagged, either.

It also seems that George has a bit of an issue with caffeine as he's doubled in size, and his purr is no longer comforting. No, it's a hiss.

"Phil." Melinda says his name in that way. Translated: _Phil, George may damage_ _ **my**_ _bus if you don't handle it and quickly._

"Yes, it looks like a job for our resident biochem expert," he says. He winces as George gravitates toward the electrical socket. There's a brief power surge and several loud explosions as Fitz's toys pop. "That sounds expensive."

He presses his ear piece and requests that Simmons join them in the lab.

"She'll be fine," Melinda assures him while they are busy with resetting the various electrical breakers and ensuring that fail safes are operational.

"I worry."

Not just about Jemma.

But his entire team was splintering before his eyes. He feels powerless to stop it.

Really, he had hoped Fitz and Ward would be able to resolve this issue themselves. Phil Coulson doesn't have the energy to referee every disagreement on the damn bus. Pre-Coulson-Ka-Bob, he would have energy to spare.

Not now.

Not when he feels... new... in his own body.

He doesn't like the fact that the lingering wounds from Ward's Bezerker 'Roid Rage Rant had inflicted on Fitz were still raw and infected. Skye had lost Melinda's goodwill with the Miles business and Jemma was running scared. One time, the old Phil Coulson would have locked everyone in a room, and kept them in it, until they had passed around the talking stick, bitched a lot and ended with everyone hugging each other and singing Kumbaya.

Or threatened them with a good Tasering until they behaved. He's partial to that solution as he's way behind on watching SuperNanny. He's learned so much about dealing with small children aka Super Heroes with Big Egos by watching Jo Frost.

But he's tired.

Out of sorts. His skin doesn't fit right as it's too small.

May's polite but not too polite as she gives him _**that**_ look. The look where she doesn't say one word but her opinion is loud and clear. For example, right now, she's calling him an overly protective fusspot. And that comment has been cleaned up for younger readers.

"Don't," he sternly protests. "You can't even pretend that you don't worry about your little cubs. Let me worry about the one that likes me best."

"I like you best," she assures Phil.

Phil attempts to be a gentleman but he gives her his best, and it's pretty damn good because he's known her for decades, Melinda-May-Eye-Roll-of-Amused-Do-You-Think-I-Join ed-SHIELD-this-morning Disbelief.

George, unhappy that nobody likes him best, decides to play again with the electric.

He taps his ear piece. "Simmons, do you think you could expedite your response?"

* * *

The kid does good, he approvingly notes. There's a moment where she's shaky as there's another power surge but she takes a deep breath and solves the issue.

However points must be deducted for the sheer messiness of her solution.

_**Fire extinguishers.** _

Which causes George to shrink down in size and Coulson is able to tag him and bag him. George gives a plaintive little 'whiff' when he's put in containment, but Coulson is not fooled one bit. He sends the kids to the showers, and he starts cleaning the mess.

Really, fire extinguishers?

Messy, and it's his bus which means Fury will be pissed. Melinda joins him in cleanup so Mom and Dad have time for a serious conversation.

"Her transfer request was never signed," Melinda begins while he's scrubbing the floor.

"Really?" he asks. He doesn't even bother trying to sound innocent because Melinda is smiling in approval.

"Got me worried there, Coulson. I thought you had actually given up on her." He doesn't say anything but Melinda touches his shoulder. "Then I realized that Phil Coulson never gives up on anyone, even if they're barricaded in The Level 3 Dungeon, creating red tape. What are you planning?"

"Taking her to Boston for a weekend of jazz and dancing. Separate rooms, Melinda. I hope we can hash this matter out between us. She's afraid of me and my supposed contempt of her alleged weakness. That's why she's leaving."

"Not the complete truth, Phil," Melinda chastises him.

Of all the people on the bus, Melinda intimately understands about being so wounded that you retreat from everything.

"I read her emails," he admits and Melinda shakes her head. "There's a lot going on in that exceedingly brilliant mind of hers. She and I need to hash it out."

"Don't let her fall in love with you," is Melinda's wise comment. "A crush is bad enough but...from personal experience I know how easy..."

She says nothing but he gives her a warm smile that's reserved only for Melinda May.

"Promise," he says. "I'd say cross my heart and hope to die, but I've been there, done that, got the foot long scar."

Her eyes quickly blink, which is her only response to his flippant comment, but he realizes that he's said too damn much to Melinda May, who knows him the best of anyone. Of all the team, she's the only one that knows how much New York still bothers him.

"Are you trying to prove something to yourself, Phil?" she quietly asks. "Trying to fix someone because you can't fix yourself?"

"Aren't you secretly flattered that you have all those little ducklings that have a crush on you?" It's his pointed retort that people that fly in airplanes shouldn't throw stones or fire guns, or they should wear their parachutes or some shit like that.

"Yes and no," she admits. "It's too much of a responsibility..." Melinda May pauses as the truth hits too close to home. "I won't tell you to be good to her because I know you will. However, I want the address of the hotel; just in case of an alien invasion. We're overdue for one."

Her tone is brisk but he knows her so very well that he's not fooled.

"Planning on it," he quips.

* * *

Phil doesn't tell Jemma what he's planning. Just that they'll meet at two on Friday and she's to bring enough clothes for a weekend. Their required meetings over the past few days have been particularly stressful for Jemma. But like most emotional wounds, they've been completely self-inflicted.

Coulson has been rather quiet, letting her lead the conversations or not, depending on her mood. The incident with George had made Jemma realize how much she'll miss being part of a team, THIS team. There's so much that she wishes to say, but she can't voice it.

_Am I making a mistake leaving?_

_Will you miss me? Will you miss the silly little slip of a girl who fancies you?_

Not even to herself.

He doesn't push and insist on talking; instead they share quiet time while drinking caffeinated beverages. She does ask him to stop wearing his hat; because it deeply disturbs her that he feels he needs to hide from her. Phil easily agrees, placing it on the table. He runs his hand through his quite short hair and makes a dry quip about it being finally long enough to hide the physical scars.

"But the scars that matter the most are the ones you can't see," he says.

She looks away and bows her head when he squeezes her hand. And hopes that he doesn't see the tears in her eyes. However she doesn't fool Coulson. Not one bit. "You're far stronger than you credit yourself. I don't know anyone who jumps out of airplanes without a parachute, unless you're Tony Stark. Even odds that he was pushed."

The last day on the bus had been surprisingly difficult, even ignoring the sheer physical effort required to pack her stuff. The team with the exception of Coulson, helps her finish her packing and brings her items out to the short bus. He's nowhere to be found, and Lola is missing from the garage.

It stings a little, OK, a great deal, but realistically she knows that he's very busy. Probably he worries that she'll make a skirking scene, so he wishes to avoid it. Most men can't handle tears.

Meanwhile Skye insists ... _**insists**_... on having a farewell party for her. It's at a bar, where there's a band with a female singer that's quite good. The rest of the team is there, and they are trying hard to be upbeat and cheerful.

Coulson makes an appearance an hour or so after everyone's arrived. He apologizes for being late; bemoaning the fact that George had required him to spend the entire day at HQ. While the others were casually dressed, he's still wearing a suit.

Skye, being the mistress of ceremonies, ensures the boys dance with Jemma. Fitz had been awkward and Ward smooth but Coulson... Coulson... It had taken the team cat calling him before he asks her for a dance. To her surprise, Phil Coulson can dance. Rather well, she discovers even though he protests how much he hates rock music.

She doesn't care, as his arm is around her and he smells like Phil. She's all left feet and jitters and awkwardness as _he's holding her._ Fortunately, Phil's quite patient as he guides her through the steps. Jemma can't help but wonder what he'd be like as a lover, if he's that patient with her two left feet. It's enough to make her blush and her heart skip a beat.

They slow dance for two songs before Melinda taps Phil on the shoulder and informs him that it's her turn. A slightly (OK, very) disappointed Jemma returns back to their table where a slightly buzzed Skye is watching the two senior agents dance. Melinda is quite athletic, and Phil and Melinda are putting on quite the show. Twirls, fancy footwork, even a few matching hand gestures that make the two senior agents laugh. Again, Jemma marvels at the tight friendship between the two agents.

"They are _**so**_ doing _**it,**_ " insists Skye. Jemma continues to smile but her heart skips a beat or three. Really in a choice between Melinda May and Jemma Simmons, there is no competition.

"No," Ward insists.

"Seriously, they are. Look how they dance together," Skye protests. "Fitz? Don't you think they're doing it?"

"They are not doing _**it**_ ," insists Ward. "They're _**divorced**_."

"From each other?" spits Fitz.

"Yes." Ward says."They've been divorced for years."

Skye shivers and Wards just stares at her. It seems that Jemma wasn't the only one that didn't know about Phil and Melinda. However, she's not sure why Skye looks so... ill.

"Come on, it's like imaging your parents having sex," the hacker explains in a very disgusted tone. Then in a softer voice, she adds, "If you knew who they were in the first place."

* * *

Phil ... sorry, Coulson, buys several rounds of drinks for team and he orders something in particular for Jemma. Whatever it is, it's _**wonderful**_ and it doesn't taste like alcohol. She has three and is about to have a fourth, when Coulson cuts her off. It's distinctively unfair, as he and Melinda are doing shots of brennivín. It's a liquor they've developed a taste for after a tour in Iceland.

"Sir!" She protests.

"It's been a long day for me, so I have to call it an early night. I have to close my tab," Coulson says. He stands and nods his head. "Good night, everyone."

He leaves and the team watches him exit.

"He didn't even wish you good luck," Fitz protests after he is sure the senior agent is gone.

"He's very upset about you leaving the team," Sky insists. "He won't admit it because he's the usual emotionally buttoned up male. Except in AC's case, there is the matching tie and handkerchief. He should be more comfortable expressing his emotions. Like Fitz here."

Skye is slightly tipsy so she hugs a blushing Fitz.

"You could learn a few things from him, Ward," continues Skye.

"Coulson?" Ward asks.

"Fitz," inserts Melinda.

"May!" Really, Ward sounds almost plaintive at this 'betrayal' from May.

"No, not the marvelous Ward, who jumps out of planes and saves people. He couldn't learn anything from anybody, especially not from Leo Fitz, who doesn't jump out of planes and has never saved anyone." Fitz is slightly tipsy so his filter is off.

Ward, not having the best people skills, still does a double take as he realizes that Fitz may have supposedly forgiven his Berserker 'Roid Rage comments but he hasn't forgotten.

"Fitz," Simmons protests in a very soft tone. "Please."

"Coulson's right. I think we've had enough to drink." Mama Duck Melinda puts her foot down hard because it's bad enough Coulson has put a damper on the party, but 'Little Bear' Fitz is not a happy drunk. She also knows that there is more to his comment about not saving people than just Ward Grant. No, not at all, but why does she think it's directed towards _**Coulson**_? "Plus, it's getting late. I wish you the best of luck, Jemma. Keep in touch. Fitz, I'll drive you home as I think you're in no condition to drive. Skye, you're staying where tonight?"

"Fitz's flat," Skye bubbles. "Did I get the term right?"

Fit nods and Skye giggles. "Then tomorrow I get to use Simmons' place as she's out of town for a long weekend."

"Good, you can drive Fitz's car over and Ward, I'll see you tomorrow in the gym." Melinda announces in such a commanding tome and it's only after Skye is in Fitz's car that she wonders why she just didn't drive Fitz home.

* * *

May and Fitz end in a coffee shop and she motions for Fitz to sit. Then she sits across the table from him and begins the patented-Melinda-May-interrogation. "Have a cookie?"

With a copious amount of coffee and pointed questioning, May manages to delve Leo Fitz's problem. He believes that he has failed Jemma because he couldn't help her keep it together.

"She wanted to stay with us, but she was shaky. Loud noises made her jump. One time she had a spot on her shirt, so I brushed it. She just freaked out because mentally, she was back in the cell. She was terrified of Ward because he reminded her of what happened. May, I shouldn't feel guilty. If bloody Coulson, Living SHIELD legend, the Undead Super Agent, couldn't help her, how could I?"

After a long sip of tea, Fitz announces, "I'm requesting reassignment back to SCI-OPS. I am simply not suitable to be a field agent. Coulson should request Flannagan and Patel for the team. They're field certified, maybe even good enough to satisfy Mr. I-jump-out-of-airplanes Ward."

Shit. She needs to put two fires out as Phil has his hands full with Jemma. It seems that the tag team of FitzSimmons had been a buffer for Ward's brusque manner but now Fitz was feeling abandoned and adrift.

"Did you tell Coulson?" she asks.

A shake of his head answers that question.

"Do you trust me?' She asks. "Think about it. Do you trust me enough to postpone your resignation until Tuesday? Between you and me, Coulson never submitted the transfer paperwork because he hopes to convince Simmons to stay."

"Funny way of doing it," quips Fitz.

"He's backing off enough to give her a chance to breathe. Don't submit your resignation just yet."

He nods his head and Melinda May gives an internal sign of relief.

"Have another cookie," Mama Melinda insists.

* * *

Coulson is in bed when his personal cell rings. There are maybe five people in the entire world who have it (and one off world). He knows who it is when "It Don't Mean a Thing if it Aint' Got that Swing" plays.

"Melinda?" he answers. "Do you need bail money?"

Really, that's the only reason Melinda would call in the middle of the night.

"If you can't convince Simmons to stay, Fitz will leave." That was Melinda, no hello, good morning, just a sucker punch to the gut.

"Tell me something that I don't already know," Phil says as he rolls over onto this stomach. He looks at his clock in true disbelief. "You called me at three oh three for this?"

Well, while he did sound a bit cross, he really wasn't. Because she had preempted his usual Tahiti nightmare at 3:07 AM.

"It's more. Fitz, Ward."

"Say no more. I'll ditch Ward if I can keep Fitz," Phil offers. Not that he wants to get rid of Ward, but he's spoken to him about how to treat his team members. And spoken to him again and then spoke yet again. Fitz was a mind that came along twice in a generation while it was far easier to replace Ward. "It didn't get better between them?"

"It did, but it was never fully resolved. With Simmons gone, Fitz won't have a Ward-Buffer. I convinced Fitz not to submit his resignation until Tuesday. Get Simmons back, Fitz will stay and I'll deal with Ward. Got your back, Coulson."

"Thanks."

* * *

Later that morning, May spars with Ward and turns him into mince meat suitable for Christmas pies. She refuses to pull her punches and Wards quickly realizes that she's serious. After a series of blows that end with him prostrate on the mat, he says, "Uncle. What's the reason for the beating, May?"

"I thought it might be beneficial to remind you that not everyone has the same strengths and abilities," she smiles but it really isn't a smile.

She offers him a hand and she helps him off the floor. He winces as his ribs are feeling a might tender. He doesn't even want to mention his pride.

"Let me guess. This entire Wipe-the Gym-Floor-with-Ward's-Ego is about Fitz's comment last night?"

"Got it in one. He's requesting a transfer off the team," May says. "Not just because Simmons' is returning back to SCI-OPS."

"Because of me?" Ward asks.

She nods her head.

"Coulson really has one choice in this matter. Let Fitz and his brilliant mind go or get rid of someone who is only good for lifting heavy objects and pissing off his team mates. Really, Fitz' only problem is that he likes haggis. Brawns like you and me, dime a dozen. Well, I'm worth more, but you aren't. Your mission, one which you will be accepting, is to get Fitz back on the team. "

"Even if I _**am**_ able to do it, which is doubtful, Simmons is still transferring," he slowly admits.

"Coulson's working on Simmons," Melinda admits. "You get Fitz. You might want to ask Skye for assistance. She and FitzSimmons are friendly."

He nods his head.

"Ward, wanting to protect people, it's a good thing. But sometimes words wounds more than physical blows. Go get our Little Bear back on the team. I know you can do it," Melinda softly says.

"I don't know if I can," he admits. "I'm not good with..."

"Do it," she interupts.

* * *

Jemma has packed, unpacked and repacked a half dozen times. She's also cleaned her flat... no, apartment until it's tidy as Skye will be staying there while she's away. That done, she realizes that she has four hours before Coulson arrives for their weekend.

She catches her reflection in the mirror and she sighs. Peter pan collars and knit sweaters will simply not do for a night of dancing. Really, that little pink dress that Skye had worn that one time; that would be perfect. While nothing would ever come of it, Jemma Simmons wants to wear something that will cause Phil Coulson's jaw to dislocate.

Decision made, Jemma Simmons nods her head.

It's time for drastic measures.

It's time for a Code - Bad Girl Shenanigans.

Yes, it's time for fashion advice from Skye.

* * *

Skye throws her bags into Ward's truck.

"Thanks for the lift," she says as she bounces into the passenger seat. "Sorry I didn't call you back right away. Fashion emergency. Simmons has a hot date this weekend. Lots of girl talk. I'd tell you more but I know how easily embarrassed you are."

Ward arches one expressive eyebrow and Skye deflates. "Ok, she didn't come out and say it, but ... it sounds like it. I'm glad. After all she's been through recently; I hope she has a wonderful weekend."

"How's Fitz?"

"I don't know. He got home late, slept in and since he got up; he's been busy with one of the dwarves."

"He's leaving the team," Ward informs her. "Because of me."

"Oh, that entire Mr. Nasty Pants with a Big Alien Stick Incident? You were really vicious to all of us, but especially cruel to Fitz. I'm just telling you because as my SO, I'm working on developing a relationship of complete honesty. Quite frankly, the silver bracelet doesn't go with my rings."

She taps her SHIELD babysitter bracelet and smiles.

"You hit every single one of his sensitive points. I can't blame him for not wanting to deal with you. Pardon my language, but you were an utter bastard and a bully to boot. It's not like you, Ward, so I can get past it, but you hit him hard."

In a softer voice, Skye adds, "In my situation, you get used to it. Have to develop a tough skin, but FitzSimmons, they haven't. I don't whether to envy or pity them.

Ward says nothing but his hands clutches the steering wheel so hard that it's wonder he doesn't rip it off the dash.

"Jemma knows him best. If we get to her apartment early you can talk to her. Make it quick as I think Mr. Hot Date is due to arrive in about thirty minutes. She's really bubbly about it, so I wish I could see him. Just to check him out to see if he's right for her."

Ward snorts but he shifts the car into drive and pulls away. Within a few minutes, they're at Jemma's apartment. A black Jeep neatly parallel parks in the parking spot they wanted, the lone parking spot for miles, and the driver steps out. It's an older man, thinning hairline and he's wearing sunglasses. It doesn't hide the fact that he's well known by both of them. The man peers at his reflection and straightens out his sleeves and tie. When he reaches into the Jeep to reveal a bouquet of flowers, Skye gasps.

"Jemma's hot date is AC?" she squeaks. "Oh my God."

When Simmons opens her apartment door and Coulson gives her a kiss on the cheek, Ward guns the motor and leaves the scene of the crime.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Skye keeps repeating. "I hope she didn't buy the dress I suggested. I don't think after being stabbed in the heart that AC's ticker will be able to handle Jemma in that dress."

"It can't be that bad," Ward insists.

She pulls out her phone and shows Ward. He nearly drives his car off the road and only through quick reflexes is he able to recover.

"Are you trying to kill Coulson?" He spits.

"I didn't know it was for AC! I didn't think to ask if her boyfriend had cardiac clearance!"

* * *

For the trip to Boston, Phil regretfully decides not to use Lola. She's a lady of delicate sensibilities, and Boston can be a rough town, so he decides to take his Jeep instead. Plus the entire weekend-with-a-red-corvette-and-a- young-lady-who-was-young-enough-to-be-his-daughter just screams, "Afterlife Crisis".

He's nervous.

Can he admit that?

It's been far too long since he's been on a 'date'.

If this could even classify as a 'date'.

He picks out his best suits and spends far too long on ties. After they're neatly packed, he triples checks the various reservations, makes sure he has enough firepower and cash to cover every contingency except for emergency surgery and that he has flowers.

Pink and White Calla Lilies tied with a pink bow.

He grabs the last parking space in front of her apartment and he nervously rechecks his appearance. One, two, three long inhaletions and exhalations and he's ready for battle.

"Well, Miss Simmons of the thirty seven doctorates when I said that I was letting you win, you never defined what I believed winning meant. It's certainly not you hiding in your lab. You may be far smarter than I could ever hope to be, but I play dirty."

He knocks on her door and she opens it. She's wearing a nervous smile, so he hands her the flowers before he leans down and gives her a kiss on her cheek. She blushes, which is terribly cute. _**Stop it, Phil,**_ his inner voice chastises him.

"Are you ready for a truly excellent time in Boston?" he asks.

Jemma Simmons blushes and nods her head.

"Wonderful."


	5. 5

Author's note – all SPAG errors are mine, mine, mine. Little Bear may seem a bit OOC in this, but he's lashing out because he feels unable to help his BFFL, Simmons.

"Mr. Pin Strip Suite" lyrics are from Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. Phil's favorite swing band as he's partial to sharp suits. "'Round Midnight" is by Ella Fitzgerald, because well, she's Ella.

* * *

Flowers and a chaste kiss on her cheek completely flustered Jemma so she had to compose herself. It took time for her to find the perfect vase and she filled it with water. That done, she placed it in the middle of the kitchen table.

"They'll stay good for a while," Phil informed her.

"They're exquisite," she said. "Thank you."

She smiled at him, and blushed, AGAIN, feeling all gangly and awkward.

"Shall I grab your luggage so we can leave? Skye is always late, but this might be the one day that she actually is on time. As it was, I thought I heard Ward's Ford just now. It needs a tune-up as it's got a rattle. I didn't see it though."

He thought it best not to mention the squeal of tires.

"That might be awkward if she shows up," she agreed.

"No, it wouldn't, because we're not doing anything of which we should be ashamed," he disagreed. "But she wouldn't let us leave until she was finished interrogating us and we'd hit rush hour traffic."

"I can't believe we're doing this," Ward protested.

"The door's opening," hissed Skye as she hid behind a tree.

* * *

Phil Coulson was carrying Simmons' luggage and he escorted her to his Jeep. The picture perfect gentleman, he opened the door for her and then walked to the trunk where he put her luggage. That done, he walked towards the driver side, but he stopped and stared at the tree in complete disbelief.

If that was the best a Level 7 SHIELD agent could do, then the Academy was slacking. Big Time.

He pointed at his eyes and then at the tree while he _**glared**_. The warning sent, he then got into the Jeep and drove away, leaving Ward and Skye blaming each other. If Skye or Ward had seen his face then, they would have been amazed to realize that he was smiling.

* * *

"Any preference on music?" Coulson asked as he shifted into third gear.

"No," she said.

"Love Ella," he admitted as he taps his CD player. "And Amy Winehouse is my secret vice. She had a set of pipes."

Ella begins to sing, and Phil is mouthing the lyrics as he knows the tune quite well.

_It begins to tell 'round midnight, midnight. I do pretty well, till after sundown  
Supper time I'm feelin' sad, But it really gets bad 'round midnight..._

Simmons doesn't know what to say, so she stared out the window.

"It will be a few hours before we reach Boston, so feel free to fall asleep," he said. "Pleasant dreams."

"Coulson," Skye repeated for what is the tenth time in five minutes. " _ **Coulson**_."

"Do you have to keep repeating that?" snapped Ward. "Coulson is simply convincing Simmons to stay on the team."

The look Skye gave him is a mixture of pity and amusement. Ward looked really disturbed and Skye decided it was time to play.

"Oh, Ward, those were 'let's- go-to-bed-and-order-room-service-all-weekend-long-flowers' especially when there's luggage and a long weekend involved. Plus the kiss on the cheek. If AC's convincing Jemma of anything, it's not work related. And I don't think Simmons will need much convincing."

"Seriously, do you have nothing better to do than gossip?"

"I'm not gossiping, I'm speculating," she decided as there was a difference, a minute difference."Simmons was quite traumatized by what happened."

"And you think Philip J. Coulson will convince her to stay on the team using his 'Level Eight sexual techniques'?"

'Level Eight Sexual Techniques'. Really, Ward sounded jealous.

"Please, AC and Jemma? Seriously, It's like you and May deciding to do the horizontal tango," quipped Skye. Fortunately, she did not see the interesting expression on Ward's face. "Though May would put you in traction. It's always the suit and tie guys you need to worry about. So repressed... so restrained. I bet you he's a wildcat in bed."

She made a passable imitation of a wildcat.

"So Melinda... possibly Jemma... looks like I'm the odd girl out." She couldn't help it; she added a loud mock sigh just to rattle Ward. "AC, you dog."

"Stop it," snapped Ward. "It's bad enough he saw us, because a hot pink sweatshirt has not and has never been considered camouflage. Did you see the warning?"

Skye laughed. "Seriously, I don't think AC is planning on seducing Jemma. He's too ... upright... a gentleman for that. Plus having a great taste in flowers. Most men would have brought roses or mums, but calla lilies. Means he's experienced enough to know what makes a girl feel special. What's with the face? Was it the Coulson Death Glare? Oh! You are SO scared of AC."

"Am not," Ward insisted as he began walking... no...storming... to his truck. "Now how do I convince Fitz to stay on the team?"

"Talk to him?" Skye suggested. "He's really a nice guy. He's been horribly worried about Simmons so he's really been extremely stressed. I mean, you saw how he was a bit overly protective whenever Coulson needed anything from Simmons."

Ward stopped dead in his tracks.

"Come on, you can't say you didn't see it? He was a little pit bull, which is why Coulson had May hand out assignments for Simmons."

Ward doesn't move.

"You need help on your people skills," Skye informed him. With relish. "Try to be a bit more like AC, not May."

* * *

For once, Jemma has very pleasant dreams. Well, not pleasant, so much as _**naughty**_ , as she is in Coulson's bed and he's being quite... _**wonderful**_. Thorough, also. Lots and lots of snogging and so much delicious touching that she's _craving_... and he's sweet and patient with her inexperience and... and... She wakes just before the best part, or what she believes would be the best part, if she had any experience in such arcane matters.

"You were smiling when you were sleeping," Coulson quietly informed her. "I've missed you smiling. Can I ask you what you were dreaming?"

"Don't remember," she lied. "But I remember I felt... safe."

_And loved and desirable._

"Yet you frowned when you woke. You don't feel safe with me?"

"I do, but I remember that it was so ... wonderful... that I was disappointed when I woke and realized it was just a dream." It was the truth.

"We're almost in Boston, so you slept most of the way," he advised. "Made extremely good time."

"You broke the speed limit, didn't you?" she teased.

"Me?" he attempted complete innocence but his smile ruined it.

"You are a speed freak," she said with mock censure. "When are you telling me the plans for the evening?"

"We'll be at the Revere hotel in a few minutes. Get settled in our rooms, have some champagne, then jazz, dancing, eating. Planning on a late night as we've got tickets to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, but fortunately, you slept for the last four hours. I'll just have to drink a great deal of coffee. Your phone went off while you were sleeping."

"Thanks," she said. She locates her phone, realizes it's a text from Skye.

**HAVE A GR8 WE – 3 SKYE :) :) :) :) :) :)**

She texted back. **HAIR – UP, DOWN?**

Skye texted back almost immediately. **UPDO – MESSY – SHOWS OFF NECK.**

**THNXS**

**DID U GET ***THAT *** DRESS?**

**YES.**

**MAY NEED TO GIVE HIM MOUTH2MOUTH. ;) BE PREPARED.**

Simmons shook his head and put away her phone.

"We're here," Phil said.

* * *

Ward knocked on Fitz's apartment door. He may be a Level Seven Agent but his lack of social skills is legendary, so he's nervous. The Maria-Hill-Poop-with-Daggers sketch has followed him even onto the bus.

"Do you have to be here?" he asked Skye. Damn it, he sounded plaintive.

"Yes, because you have no people skills." She chirped just to rattle Ward.

Fitz barely opened the door and then sighed. Loudly. "What do you want?"

"Need to talk," Ward brusquely stated, while he deliberately ignored Skye's exasperated sigh. "May I come in?"

"Depends. Are you planning on banging your chest and telling me how fucking fantastic you are and what a loser I am?" Fitz sniped."Why don't you tell Coulson that? Let me know how well that goes over. I'm betting that he'll kill you with his tie. Or his pen. He won't even break a sweat."

"No, I'm planning on telling you have fucking fantastic you are," Ward retorted.

"You are not my type," Fitz snapped. "Plus there are no airplanes nearby for which you to jump out of. However, I've got a balcony if you need to prove your manliness and your general awesomeness."

The door slammed shut and Ward sighed.

"He'll be back. He's getting dressed. He also hasn't had his first cup of tea yet," Skye explained. "He gets cranky if he doesn't get a full eight hours, but I am detecting a bit of active dislike boarding on hate towards you. He's upset about the Simmons situation but he won't blame Coulson. It's obvious to most of us, those of us with any people skills, that Coulson really tried to help her, so Fitz is transferring his anger towards you."

"And you know this, _**how**_?" Ward protested.

"I watch Dr. Phil. "

Ward said something that was completely unrepeatable in mixed company.

"Seriously, I usually bounce between his and Simmons' place on furlough. I also know that he and Simmons were bullied when they were younger as they were brilliant and not old enough to drive when they started MIT. Congrats, you really hit a raw nerve with him. He and Simmons are best mates... friends... because it was always everyone else against them. College, SHIELD, the entire 'FitzSimmons' bit – where they're lumped together instead of being seen as unique people."

Ward sighs.

"He's slightly older than Simmons, so he's the big brother in their relationship. He's taking this very hard. And with you belittling him in front of Simmons and me..."

"I was there," he growled.

"You _**were**_ and you _**weren't**_ ," she protested.

The door slightly opened and Fitz walked away.

"Come in or go," Fitz called from the end of the hallway. "Makes no difference to me."

"You can do it," Skye whispered to Ward.

"I must, or I'm off the team."

* * *

Boston –

The suite was huge, and it had three balconies overlooking Boston. Phil let her into the room only after he had thoroughly checked it with assorted devices and a visual. That done, he went to his adjoining room to check it out. After thirty minutes, he came to her room and she was still sitting in the same spot that he left her. In a chair, overlooking a magnificent view of Boston.

"You look... perplexed," he finally said. "Not a good perplexed, but perplexed."

"This is _**amazing**_ ," she said. "How much?"

He raised his finger, and instead of the Coulson Finger of Censure, it was more of a Shush.

"I promised you an incredible weekend," he reminded her."I also promised you something ridiculously expensive. Turn down service and that I'd rent a suite. I told you that I'd spend entirely too much in order to impress you. Speaking of which, the champagne should be arriving shortly. I also asked that they send something with it so we can eat as drinking champagne on an empty stomach is a bad idea. It's a recipe for ending up in Vegas and getting married by an Elvis impersonator."

"You sound like you have personal experience with that," Jemma quipped.

"That's classified," he retorted even while he smiled.

"I'm..." Jemma could say nothing more.

He flashed a quick, crooked grin. "Dare I hope that I've impressed you?"

She nodded her head quickly.

"Excellent."

* * *

"Look, about the comment you made yesterday," Ward said. The apology begun, Fitz was having none of it. Fitz just stared at him. His blue eyes blazed and the easy going Fitz was nowhere to be seen. Maybe that crazy separatist was right when she named him Little Bear because Fitz looked as though he wished to rip out his throat.

To see that level of hate directed from him, by a team member, by someone Ward thought of as a ... **_friend_**... unnerved him.

"Time for me to disappear as I think I'm about to drown in testosterone, I'll go play with your game console," Skye offered.

Ward waited until Skye left the room.

"It was the stick," Ward explained. "I told you; it made me say things I'd never say."

"No, it wasn't. It just permitted you to bring your contempt out to the open and in front of witnesses. It's the way you view me. Fine. The geek who brings a prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella with a hint of homemade pesto aioli sandwich because Mr. Big Shot Agent couldn't be bothered to tell me that he was bringing MREs."

"Hey!" Ward said, as he put up his hands. "Calm down, Fitz."

"No, I will _**not**_ calm down. I think it's time that you experienced what you did to me. Without the benefit of a big, bad stick to hide behind. So tell me, Mr. Big Shot Agent, who jumps out of airplanes, why did you leave Simmons and Coulson behind? Didn't have an airplane nearby? Motorcycle? Some sort of dramatic escape to feed your ego? So when you condemn me for failing, so you can prop up your ego, at least I tried until you took the parachute away from me. You didn't put much of an effort in this last time. What happened? Did you get clocked in the head with a fire extinguisher? Oh wait, that was me, Mr. Big Shot Save the World Agent."

"I know what you are, Grant Ward. I've dealt with a lot of people like you. You're a bully. The only difference is that you are chronically insecure and you have decided that by being the big bad protector, you can hide the fact that you're really not all that and a bag of crisps. Because if you weren't chronically insecure and needing to boost your ego by picking on someone you deem weaker than yourself, you'd tell Coulson and May how they failed at protecting Jemma. I'd love for you to tell Coulson that. Can I watch?"

For a wonder, a stricken Ward didn't say anything. Then he spoke, "I really didn't mean it, Fitz."

"Yes, you _**did**_. I'd respect you more if you just admitted it," Leo quietly said. "I don't know why Skye puts up with you, because you were a right proper prat to her also."

Ward said nothing for the longest time, and then he said. "That stick, when I picked it up, it brought me back to a place I didn't want to go. When I was younger, my older brother bullied my young brother and me. He ... he threw my younger brother in a deep well and my brother couldn't swim. "

Leo said nothing but instead nodded his head.

"The stick brought it all back. The anger. The hopelessness."

"So you acted like your brother and you lashed out at someone you believed was weaker than you," Leo pointedly mentioned.

Ward nodded his head. "Guilty."

"Did you ever forgive your brother for being a bully?"

Ward realized that he never have started a battle of the wits with someone far smarter than him. Really, it was an eye opening experience.

"No," softly admitted Ward.

"Then why should I?" Fitz asked.

"Because I'm really not..." Ward ceased talking, and rubbed his forehead. Finally, he laid it on the line, "I'm willing to leave if you'd stay on the team."

"Stay on the team; I'm heading back to SCI-OPS with Jemma. Because Simmons and I are friends, a concept completely foreign to the self-absorbed world of Grant Ward, where there is only the Great Protector and the weak. Friends means you accept someone for who they are, for their supposed weaknesses rather than using it to boost your ego."

Leo Fitz stormed away and Ward left the room. He nearly ran in Melinda May, who shook her head.

"Little Bear had a few good points there," she said.

"When did you show up?" he protested.

"Just now. I brought the liquor and the potato chips plus ordered the takeout. Do you really think Coulson would let you go into this rather sensitive mission without backup? Fitz is really rather reasonable, you took the right approach by letting him spew his venom. The situation with Jemma is really bothering him. Simmons had really struggled to keep it together the last few weeks and she was leaning heavily on Fitz."

"How do you know this?" Ward asked.

"Coulson has a tendency to have long-winded conversations with himself. He talks, I listen, and he comes up with the decision that he would have normally done so, but he gives me credit. The team's falling apart and he's blaming himself," Melinda explained. "However, the blame should be spread equally. He needed to focus on Simmons, and I should have been trying harder to keep the team together."

* * *

Boston

"I need to change, else we'll be late," Jemma said.

"I'll wait here for the champagne," Coulson offered. He gave her a quick smile and sat in a chair in the living area.

She smiled back and went into her bedroom and closed the door.

"I can do this," she insisted. "I can. If I can stun Sitwell with the night-night gun, and not get suspended, I can certainly wear this dress."

It was a short, black shutter dress that clung to her and gave her curves that she really didn't have. Some strappy shoes suitable for dancing, makeup hints from Skye and her hair up but messy completed her transformation. When she was done, she didn't recognize the stranger in the mirror.

Definitely, the Mistress of Bad Girl Shenanigans was staring back at her.

She'd almost feel bad for Coulson, if it wasn't for the fact that her knees were shaking.

And if she could actually leave her bedroom.

Coulson finally knocked on the door, "The champagne's here."

Fortunately, his reflexes were finely honed after years... decades... of SHIELD training, because when Jemma showed off her dress and her curves... Sweet God Almighty, Jemma Simmons had curves! Beyond stunned, he nearly dropped the champagne bottle. He managed somehow to salvage it and uncork it. Really, the loud popping of the cork was extremely Freudian so he just concentrated on her eyes. Not the dress and her legs! She had legs! _**LEGS**_!

"You look... lovely," he finally managed to say. "Truly, I'm the luckiest man in the world."

Simmons blushed and then he poured her a glass. He offered her the glass and then poured his own. Then he held it up and proposed a toast. "To an excellent weekend."

She echoed him and they clinked their glasses before an awkward silence descended. Really, he needed to say something, anything, to break the silence. "I like jazz because it's organic and fluid. It's never the same, always changing. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy is really quite good. Are you familiar with them?"

"Never heard of them," she admitted which earned her a frown from Coulson.

"I hope you like them." Then he laughed. "Eat your potato chips."

"Potato chips and champagne," Jemma said even as she shook her head.

"It's a classic dish. _Seven Year Itch_? Marilyn Monroe? Maybe that movie wasn't big in England, so have some more potato chips with crème fraîche."

"Certainly know how to show a girl a good time," she said.

"I try," he quipped.

After they had polished off the champagne, they headed to dinner and the club. Jemma is horribly giddy, because of the champagne, because Phil is focusing totally on her, because she's having a wonderful time. Her crush on Phil has certainly not abated. Not one bit.

And the dancing is amazing. Plenty of slow dancing where he taught her the basics, but he's not afraid to take her and her two left feet out for the faster songs. He evens twirled her a few times while she laughed in sheer giddiness.

 _Hey Mr. Pinstripe Suit. Hey Mr. Hi De Hi De Ho._  
Well I know you got the answers that we all wanna know.  
Hey Mr. Wingtip Shoes. Hey Mr. Always On the Go.  
Well I know you got the answers that we all wanna know.

They're slow dancing after still more champagne, and Jemma comes to a decision. The question is: how should she approach it.

"So, having a good day?" Phil teases.

"Yes. Dancing, champagne, Boston, amazing," she assures him.

"Dare I hope that you're having an _**excellent**_ day?" Phil intensely asks her, and she realizes that he's really serious.

He's really attempted to make this weekend wonderful for her. Flowers, dancing, champagne... lots of champagne... At any other time in her life, pre HYDRA Hilton, she'd think today was not just an excellent day, but a perfect day.

However, she wanted more. Dare she admit it? She wanted Phil Coulson in her bed.

"Just a good day," she admitted.

His smile faded and he asked her, "How can I make it an excellent day?"

She shook her head and they continued to dance. He seemed oblivious to the reaction that his hands (chastely put) were having on her. Or how his smile made her feel giddy because it's directed towards her.

"Seriously, how can I make it an excellent day? I want to know."

He stopped dancing and she pouted until he started moving again.

"Phil," she whispered. "I know how you can give me an excellent day."

"Yes?" he asked. He's really quite intense and she's held tightly against him.

"I want you to be my first."

There.

Not an appeal. Not a please to be heard. _**Will you**_?

But an expressed desire. _**I want.**_

A deliberate, systematically thought out decision. _**I choose.**_

He continued to dance, but their rhythm hesitated; is gone. It took him a moment to find his step again, but his arm remained on hers. For he will not let her falter.

"This is not the time or place to discuss this," he finally said in a very soft voice.

Jemma Simmons nodded her head and leaned still closer to him. It wasn't a no; not at all. It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no, either.

"We need to talk about this. Not any place that has a bed," Phil informed her.

* * *

Boston

Phil takes her to one of his old haunts, a small coffee shop, where he finds a table for two in a corner. After their order is placed, he holds out his right hand. She stares at it and he quirks his eyebrow. She moves her left hand and he clasps it. He rubs his thumb over hers.

It's shockingly intimate for her and he gives her a crooked smile.

"Why me?" he asks. "Why not someone younger? With less miles on the tires. Why not Leo? Ward is a bit of a pain in the ass at times, but he's a good guy.'

She blushes and shakes her head.

"Haven't answered the question," his voice is gentle, but his eyes are sharp.

"I can't think when you do that," she admits.

"I'll stop," he says, as he gives her thumb a final caress.

"It's just next time, I might not be so lucky." She softly admits that. "I'd like to be able to choose to experience it with someone I trust and respect."

His face is expressionless and then he shakes his head, "That's not a good reason."

"For me it is." It is, it really is.

"It would be just for the weekend. You shouldn't accept a one night stand. You're worth more than a frantic tumble."

"I am not _**accepting**_. I'm _**choosing**_. I'm _**offering**_. And I hope you're planning on more than a frantic tumble between the sheets. I think I deserve better and I'm glad we both agree on that."

Coulson says nothing but he's smiling, with dimples as she's surprised him. The waitress comes with their coffee so the quiet moment is broken. He changes the subject by ordering dessert, "I'd like the tiramisu, please. Simmons, you should get something. Desserts are really good here."

She orders something and when the waitress leaves, she pounces, "It's not the dessert I want."

He rubs his neck under his collar and he's still smiling. A little bashfully, which makes him unexpectedly quite cute. It' s the crooked smile balanced with a slightly crooked nose and kind eyes.

"I'm truly flattered, but no," he finally says. "I have to confess that I never signed the transfer papers. You're still on my team. It's not a good idea to mix sex between coworkers, let alone a supervising agent and his junior agent. Things get awkward unless you put a lot of effort into it."

"Like you and May did," she says.

He winces.

"Just a suggestion. If you're trying to seduce someone, don't mention the ex-wife," he quips.

"I'm not trying to seduce you," she said. "I'm not blinking my eyes at you. Haven't flashed..."

He interrupts quickly, "If you ask a man to your bed, you're attempting a seduction. You're just being direct about it. It's quite refreshing, to be honest." He smiles again and leans back. "Melinda and I, it was a fantastic five years. Sadly, we were married for six. Ward, right?"

She doesn't say anything.

"May never should have told him, but apparently his reaction was really quite amusing. Nearly ran out of her hotel room, screaming like a little girl, wearing nothing but a towel." he admitted. Then in a sly tone, "You didn't know? If he wants to talk about my personal life, I'll talk about him. I laughed for days; secretly Grant Ward's afraid of me. I'm planning on using that knowledge against him one day."

He loosens up to make a comical face of disbelief. Then he laughs and broadly smiles at the waitress who delivers their desserts.

"Had to put a great deal of work into my friendship with Melinda. And having earned the fear of Grant Ward, so incredibly worth it."

He points at her, and then orders her to eat her dessert.

"How about a kiss?" Jemma barters.

His response is to look at her, a long, considering look and then he shakes his head. "Don't tease an old dog, Jemma. Might have some bite left in him. Besides this weekend is to convince you to stay on the team."

"I'd like a signing bonus," she said. She giggles. "Or a re-signing bonus."

"How much did you have to drink tonight?" he asks. He's wearing the perplexed smirk of his which she absolutely adores. It's her second favorite Coulson smile as her personal favorite is the bemused one he wears when all hell is breaking loose as he's been underestimated. "You had several glasses of champagne."

"Really good champagne," she inserts.

Again, with the dimples! How could a girl think when faced with his dimples!

"You know how I feel," she softly admits. She looks away from him. "It hasn't changed. I'm just tired of being scared. I was scared in the cell, scared after I confessed my feelings, terrified how you'd act towards me after you can back. This weekend, I wish to be bold and audacious. "

"You worried needlessly about me," he explains. "Now eat your dessert. The one on your plate."

He points his fork at her Crème Brûlée.

"Signing bonus, does that mean you're staying on the team?" he asks.

She nods and her reward is a true Coulson smile.

She's placed the offer on the table, and while Phil hasn't said yes, he also hasn't said no. Just the reasons why they shouldn't and that was it. As though he's trying to convince her why they shouldn't. And perhaps himself?

There's a look in his eyes that she's never seen directed towards her before. A lingering, appraising look as though Phil Coulson is terribly, terribly interested. It's quite flattering.

However, he's a perfect gentleman. Picks up the tab and escorts her back to her hotel room.

"If you need anything, I'll have my adjoining door unlocked. Just knock," he said.

* * *

Sometimes during the afternoon, the team decided it was necessary to have a party at Fitz's apartment. Beer, potato chips, take out and Melinda May had arrived while Ward and Fitz had their discussion. Whatever was discussed, Ward is extremely withdrawn and Fitz isn't much better.

Skye's phone buzz and both Fitz and Ward groan. Melinda says nothing as is her norm.

"Sorry," Sky apologized. She pulls out her phone, announces, "Simmons," and her jaw drops in sheer delight as she reads her text. She scrolls for a bit and then she leaves the room. Quickly.

"Is there a problem?" Fitz called.

"No, not at all!" Skye chirped. She popped her head back into doorway, "I have to step out for a moment. Girl talk."

The three remaining team members stared at each other and Melinda smirked.

"What?" Fitz asks. Ward also noticed the smirk and he looks... dazed like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi tractor trailer.

"You wouldn't understand," Melinda said.

"Try me," Fitz protested.

"Trust me, you really wouldn't understand."

* * *

"Did you kill him in the dress?" was Skye's first hushed question.

"He nearly dislocated his jaw. Skye...How can you tell if a man's _**interested**_ ," Simmons asks her. "I think he is, but he went over why we shouldn't."

"How did he sound?" Skye asks, as she reminds herself that she's not supposed to know who the lucky gentleman in question is.

"I think he was trying to convince himself why he shouldn't."

Yup, sounds like AC.

"Did he bring it up?"

"I did." Slight breathless giggles. "Your bad girl shenanigans are rubbing off on me. Though he seems to find my honesty refreshing."

"Simmons!" Skye giggles. "I am so proud of you, but don't use the night night gun on him. If he's interested, he'll watch you. Closely."

"He is, but it's different than normal."

"Does he lean toward you? Touch your hand?" Skye continues.

"Yes and yes. He seems nervous, which is really quite adorable. He's normally unflappable, so it's noticeable. It's really rather charming because I like knowing that I'm not the only nervous one."

"He's into you," Skye assures her. Even though she knew the answer, she asks, "Is he older?"

"Somewhat."

"That's the issue. He's being a gentleman. The best thing to do is...wait. Too aggressive and you'll scare him. You let him know, he's interested and the rest is up to him."

Long moment of silence. "If I tell you something, please don't tell anyone. No one. Please? Swear? I need to talk to someone I trust. I don't know what to do. " Simmons' voice was so soft that Skye could barely hear her.

"I promise," Skye assures her.

"I haven't done it, yet. When I was in the cell, they threatened that they would... you know... in front of Coulson. this guy, I trust him, and I really want him to do it... because I want to be able to choose..." Jemma sighs. "I know you have a lot of experience, so this sounds silly. I was just so scared that they'd... in front of COULSON."

"It doesn't," Skye admits. "Miles... he was my first... only... Really, wasn't the smartest decision I have ever made."

"He knows what happened in the cell, Skye. I'm worried that if I'm not aggressive enough, it won't happen. Please, please, please, don't tell anyone. It's ... Phil." Simmons admits the name in the softest whisper.

"He's a romantic, isn't he?" Skye asks.

"Yes." Very soft whisper.

"You've told him and his reaction was?"

"Flattered."

"That's a good start. Knowing AC, he's thinking it over. And over. And over again. So don't push."

"Thanks, I needed to talk to someone."

* * *

Phil's in his bed, wearing his usual sweat pants and black t-shirt. He's just endured a very long, cold shower and he's ready for bed, when Jemma knocks on the door between their two rooms.

"Come in," he said.

She walked into his room.

"Phil?" she called. "I'm sorry. My zipper is stuck?"

If it was anyone else, he'd laugh at the feeble attempt at seduction, but it's Simmons. Not Skye, who manipulates those around her as easily as she breathes.

"It's really stuck," she explained. "I've tried, but I'm afraid that I'll tear the dress." She pulled her hair up and away, so he could see the zipper. It's really stuck. He struggled with it, that's the reason why when it finally unzips; the zipper descended all the way down and showed off her black bra.

The dress slipped off her shoulders, and he made damn sure that she's dressed and her zippers up before he speaks to her.

"All taken care of," he said, as he hoped that she leaves and quickly.

She turns to face him, fortunately still wearing the dress, and she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you. I had an excellent day today," she said.

Fortunately she retreated back to her room after that because he's really quite attracted to her. The let's-throw-caution-to-the-wind, cancel-our-plans-for-tomorrow-and-spend-all-day-in-bed-attracted. Because-I'd love-to-be-your-first.

* * *

Phil's still awake an hour later, staring at the ceiling.

He likes smart women. It's a personal kink of his, smart, sassy women who know what they want.

It's just most of the time (OK, all of the time) Phil Coulson isn't the wanted.

And yes, he's flattered.

And he knows he's playing with fire and it's been so long that he's forgotten what much it hurts to get burned.

Sanity returns once he rubs his chest and he feels the scar. He feels old and he feels tired. It's been a long, long Friday and he is exhausted.

It's no surprise that he has nightmares. They are intermittent, popping up when he's feeling stressed or exhausted. It might be Bahrain, it might be Tahiti, it might him be modeling the latest in Asgardian scepter or watching Simmons being hurt, but tonight it's an odd mishmash of dreams.

He's in Tahiti; the physical therapist is massaging his scar tissue. It's a deep tissue massage so it's hurts like a son of a bitch, but it's necessary to prevent the adhesions from forming. That's what they kept telling him, but he believes that the physical therapist has a sadistic streak.

"So,Coulson..." the therapist says.

That's new.

It's _**not**_ part of the regular nightmare.

It's also Melinda's voice, so he sits up and sees her. The shell shocked Melinda from Bahrain and he realizes that he's bleeding from the scar. Not just bleeding, but gushing, and he's putting pressure on the wound but the blood, his blood, is still squirting out.

He's in a hospital ward, and he dies. Again. Is brought back. Dies again. Brought back and the cycle repeats over and over again while he screaming at them... at _**Simmons?**_... to just let him die.

_**Let me die.** _

Because each time, he's revived, he experiences the burning pain as an intrinsic part of Phil Coulson's soul is left on the other side. And he's freezing, so cold that he knows that he'll never be warm again.

He wakes then, gasping for breath and he pulls himself into a sitting position. He has his arms wrapped around his knees and he's trying to calm his breathing. And there's someone sitting on the bed next to him and she... Simmons?... has her arm around his shoulder.

"Deep breathing," she says.

"Cold," he whispers as he's shivering. "Cold."

She's _**warm**_ and she's _**alive**_ and he feels ice cold as though just recently raised from the crypt. And dear God help him, she's in his bed so he pulls her towards him and he kisses her.

Simmons doesn't resist, not at all, in fact, she pulls him closer to her but her kiss is just so... trusting... as she's eager and thrilled... Other women he's kissed, there's always been a bit of a power play, one-upmanship if you will, but Jemma trusts him. Completely.

When he finally needs air, they break apart. Jemma Simmons is delightedly smiling and he realizes that he needs to be an adult.

"Go back to your room," he insists. " _ **Please**_."

"No, I want another kiss," she retorts.

"I kiss you again and I'll want you to spend the night with me."

"I'll stay. Happily."

Oh good God, he's only human. It's been so terribly long and _**she's in his fucking bed.**_

"We can't, because if we take that step, everything changes between us," he protests. "We'll never be able to take this back. It will change our relationship _**completely**_."

"It's already changed between us," she insists.

"And you didn't talk to me for months," Phil reminds her. "I can't relive that."

"I felt guilty because you were hurt. I won't feel guilty if we do this."

She makes it sound so easy. Like this insanity would work! And she kisses him even while she tugs at his t-shirt. He pulls away, and shakes his head.

"No, let me," he insists.

She nods once.

* * *

Several hours later:

"Go to sleep," he insisted while Jemma rested her head on his chest. He pulled the duvet over her so she was warm. They're bare skin against skin except for the fact he refused to remove his t-shirt and he hadn't let her touch him there.

"Was I OK?" Jemma whispered.

"You were _**magnificent**_ ," he assured her.

"What now?" was her next question.

"Sleep, breakfast."

"That's not what I mean," she insisted.

He squeezed her shoulder and continued to stroke her back. "I know. One day at a time, Jemma. "


	6. 6

When Simmons wakes, she is alone in Coulson’s bed.  Hesitantly, she reaches toward his side of the bed, and while it is warm, there is no Phil. She closes her eyes, willing herself not to think the worst and she exhales slowly. She burrows under the blankets and covers her head.

Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. **_BUGGER_**.

Seems someone was having morning after regrets.  And it wasn’t Jemma Simmons.

“Yes, bring it to my room. An hour is fine,” she hears Coulson say. “Thanks.”

To her surprise, Phil gets back into the bed and burrows under the covers until he is looking at her.

“I know you’re awake,” Phil tells her. “I ordered room service. They’ll be here in an hour or so. Is this morning after regrets? It’s usually a bad sign when someone is hiding under the pillows.  Was my performance last night unsatisfactory? I’m worried.”

“You were amazing.” It is the truth as Phil had been one hell of a kisser and he had incredible hands.  Absolutely amazing hands... and very, very, very thorough.  Protective and intense with a bit of whimsy which had made her feel both safe and desired. The entire experience had been far better than her rather naive daydreams because Phil was positively, absolutely sexually brilliant.

He preens at her praise.

“I’m just chilly,” she lies.

“Be right back. Promise.”

He leaves his... no...   ** _their_** bed and she permits herself the gander, enjoying the various bits and bobs she can see as he is still only wearing his t-shirt from last night. She had quickly learned last night that as much as she wanted to touch him everywhere and then some, his chest and back were off limits.  When she had performed the EKG for his physical, he had stared at the ceiling until the leads were removed.

Coulson meanders into her room, grabs the comforter off the bed and brings it back to his room where he covers her with it. That done, he grabs his pajama bottoms and puts them on.  One leg at a time.

Coulson has a simply scrumptious bum, Jemma realizes.

“Better get my pants on so I’m dressed when room service arrives.”

She giggles and he sighs.  “Is it one of those Brit things?”

Her laughter is enough.

* * *

 

Phil crawls back into bed and he lies on his side so he’s facing Simmons.  He’s wearing a bemused grin with dimples.

Good God, the dimples! They should be classified as a Weapons of Mass Seduction!

“Morning,” he says. “Do you mind removing the covers from your head so we both don’t suffocate? It would be awkward and hard to explain, though since we’d both be dead, we wouldn’t have to explain.”

She pulls the covers down and he leans towards her and gives her a kiss.  His breath is minty, so he’s already brushed his teeth, combed his hair (though she had adored the disheveled bed head look of earlier that morning) and ordered room service.

He rolls on his back and she moves very slowly as she rolls towards him.

“May I?” she asks. “I’ll be careful.”

Coulson nods and she carefully places her head on his shoulder. Then watching his reaction very carefully, she then rests her arm across his chest.

“You know that they cracked my chest open after what happened,” he quietly explains. “The scar is... sensitive... sometimes.”

Being considerate, she moves her arm and by extension, her hand lower, and his look turns quite serious. His somber facade is completely ruined by his dimples.

“Jemma Simmons, you are a naughty, **_naughty_** girl.”

He kisses her again and places her hands at her side even while he rolls her on her back.

“Phil... let me,” she insists.

“No,” he protested. “This weekend is for you.”

It is quite hard to pout when you’re being rather thoroughly snogged, Jemma realizes. Plus his hands... Oh my good God, was her last coherent thought for a long time. It's even better than the night before. Practice does make perfect!

Later that morning, after a long breakfast in bed, Simmons races back to her room to shower and change, leaving Phil in his room. He puts everything away and then reaches for his phone.

* * *

 

Melinda permitted herself a long stretch and cracked her neck. It was long past time to get out of bed and she easily sat up. Being comfortable with herself, she didn’t bother to pull the sheets up to cover her, besides Grant was snoring next to her.

Then the damn phone went off.  Goddamn it – it was the “Ecstasy of Gold” by Metallica. She never should have let Phil play with her phone.

“Phil?” she says even as she places him on speaker.

“Morning. Update on Fitz?”

“Pissed, still planning on leaving.”

Phil curses a blue streak and wakes up Ward. Melinda motions for her bedmate to keep his mouth shut.

“Ward didn’t succeed in calming him down?”  Phil’s tone conveys little hope for that miracle.

“No,” she admits

“Can’t blame Leo. The original apology was lacked a great deal. A half-assed, sorry I just emasculated you in front of your friends while I physically poked you and pushed you around but it was really due to a big alien stick, if you conveniently forget I’ve made comments about your unsuitability since I first met you apology from Grant Ward doesn’t mean anything. Let’s not forget Ward calling him our little monkey. Ward didn’t notice that I failed to laugh. I promised Fitz a better working environment and I broke my promise thanks to Ward. I do not like breaking promises, Melinda.”

“Fitz told him off though,” Melinda offers. “He scored a direct hit or three.”

“I don’t want FitzSimmons back in SCI-OPS,” Phil says.  “You know why I took them out of there. If Simmons agrees to stay, and Ward hasn’t groveled enough to calm Fitz down, there’s only one solution.”

“Ward’s gone,” Melinda quietly states.

 “Fury wanted me to take him so I agreed. I warned Fury, any surly behavior would not be tolerated.  Fitz had claimed he was OK with Ward, but you know how that’s how he acted during that entire mess in SCI-OPS.  Kept denying there were any issues, even after I witnessed them. I should have followed my gut instincts on Fitz.”

Ward narrows his eyes in confusion while Melinda softly agrees.

“You taking up with Ward just made this situation even worse, Melinda.  If Hill catches a whiff that you two are involved, when I try to trade Ward for someone else, she’ll pull out the sexual harassment card. The entire ex-wife taking up with a younger man and her ex kicks the new guy off the team. Speaking of which, Ward, you and I will discuss in detail why you felt the need to tell everyone that May and I are divorced.”

Long pause. Then in a very mild tone, which has caused even Tony Stark to back down. “And the explanation better be damn good, Ward.”

Normal tone.  “I’ll call you later, May. Ward, Fitz better be happy and willing to work with you. Else I’m looking for a new specialist to join my team.”

Coulson hangs up and Melinda shakes her head.  

“Coulson needs to stop trying to save everyone,” Melinda says. “Really, he seems to have a deep psychological need to turn the mobile command unit into the Isle of MisFitz Agents.”

While Melinda is secretly proud of her pun, the literal Ward doesn’t get it. Apparently you can’t have six pack abs and a sense of humor.

Shame.

“What happened in SCI-OPS? And **_he_** knows about **_us_**?” Grant asks.

“Of course he knows about us. There’s too much history between Phil and me to sneak around,” Melinda says. “And in spite of what you might believe, the Geeks in SCI-OPS are as just as big a bully as any of the field agents in SHIELD. Phil noticed what was happening to FitzSimmons in SCI-OPS, the two of them denied anything was happening. He decided to investigate it as he doesn’t like bullies or intimidation among SHIELD coworkers, and he ended it.”

“How?” Ward asks.

“He improvised,” Melinda admits. “Phil gets creative sometimes.”

Ward narrows his eyes and then his eyes widen when he realizes that the supposedly mild mannered Coulson, being an astute observer of the human nature, has a vicious streak.

“The Anthrax scare?” Ward asks. “That turned out to be...”

A rather realistic powder, that upon analysis, was determined that to be a compound of common household ingredients including powdered sugar from the Little Debbie Frosted Doughnuts.

“And all the scientists had to be decontaminated and stripped down to the bare essentials.”

May smirks, “Not FitzSimmons. They were with Coulson, having lunch. He took them out as a thank you for their assistance on a project of his.”

Ward’s eyes widen as he realizes the extent of the concentrate conspiracy.

“The full color glossies!  You helped him, didn’t you?” Ward exclaims. “Sitwell, too!”

“That’s classified,” she chastises. “Now, focus on Fitz.  Simmons is possibly changing her mind about leaving.”

“Do you think a trip to Boston will work?” Ward quips.

The look that May gives him is a bemused pity which causes Ward to shake his head.  “No, no, no.  Coulson is **_not_** seducing Simmons.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Skye and Fitz are having a bonding moment. Yes, they are at Fitz’s place, playing a hacked version of **The Avengers** on his deluxe gaming system.

“On this level, if you spin the Hulk just so, he bitchslaps Thor,” Skye explains. She twirls rather than spins the Hulk, causing collateral damage and friendly fire. The resulting mess is catastrophic. Thor is dead, Iron Man is sparking, Hawkeye and Black Widow are squashed and Captain America is smashed, of which a difference between the two terms exists. The disaster leaves the Hulk roaring while New York burns.

Then James Earl Jones’ voice fills the room from the surround sound speakers. **_“AGENTS, YOU HAVE FAILED NOT ONLY THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, BUT THE WORLD.”_**

“Thank God the world isn’t depending on me to save it,” Skye admits. “Though I could have used an NPC Coulson to wrangle the divas.”

“Fortunately, no one is depending on me,” Fitz darkly confesses.

Skye puts down her controller and sits next to Fitz. She gives him a one handed hug, not noticing that Fitz blushes.

“Don’t leave the team, Fitz,” Skye requests. “I’ll miss our game nights. Who else will appreciate the complexity of my game hacks? Ward’s an idiot, but he means well. Don’t let him bother you.”

“I’m tired of being bullied,” Fitz admits.  “When Coulson approached Simmons and me about joining the team, he promised us a cooperative atmosphere where our ‘unique gifts would be appreciated’.”

Fitz uses his hands to quote Coulson.

“Ward’s just jealous,” Skye explains. “He might have muscles, and a lot of them, but he’s not the smartest scalpel.”

A  Scottish snort of disbelief was the response.

“He needs a dictionary to play Pictionary,” Skye explained.  “He’s like a diamond. Beautiful to look at but dense.”

Fitz laughed.  In response, he said, “He demonstrates that beauty times brains is a constant.”

 “He's a General Protection Fault trigger.”

That earned a giggle.

“He's an agent on a mission, but can't find his dossier.”   That causes both of them to laugh when Skye adds, “AC is so gonna be pissed! You know how much time he spends on his dossiers!”

The two start exchanging comments about Grant Ward and his relative density. “His access time approaches infinity.” “His files are compressed 100%.” “His head needs a periodic whack on the side.” “His emotional input pipe is broken.” “His interrupt handler hit a loop.” “His brackets are mismatched.” “His URL denies outside access.” “Permanently disconnected emotional net.” “He’s synaptically challenged.”

Then Fitz slowly exhales. “I don’t like making fun of people. It’s not nice.”

“Oh, Fitz, don’t ever change,” insists Skye just before she gives him a kiss on his cheek. “We need you and Simmons on the bus to balance out Warm and Fuzzy.”

Her phone buzzes and she grimaces an apology.  “Simmons,” she says.

“Let me know if she seduced Coulson,” a surprisingly socially astute Fitz asks.

“You know about her crush?” Skye asks.

He nods. “She asked me about several of her outfits. Coulson doesn’t have a chance.”

“And how about Leo Fitz, who is your secret crush? You must have one?” asks Skye.

“Doesn’t know how I feel,” he admits.   Skye doesn’t realize how he looks at her when he admits that as she’s too focused on her phone.

“Loooo-ser,” Skye announces.

“No, she’s not,” he intently protests. “No one could ever call her that in front of me. Not even Mr. Secret Agent Ward.”

She begins to wildly text and then she gasps.

“What?” Fitz asks.

“Coulson is apparently the suit wearing Asgardian Sex God”.  Skye then gasps and covers her mouth.  “Oh my God, you can’t repeat it. Coulson would be horrified if he realizes we were discussing his... undercover agent prowess.”

The two have an attack of the giggles. After a while, they settle down and then burst out laughing when they look at each other.

“I won’t,” he promises. “And good for Jemma. She always wanted him and she got him. Coulson’s a good guy, and he’ll treat her well.”

“We can’t let him know that we know,” she insists.

“Agreed.”

“Yubikir?” she requests as she hold out her pinky. Since she and Fitz have chatted about anime, she uses that term.

“Pinky swear,” he agrees as he latches onto her pinky with his.

* * *

 

Simmons picks another bad girl outfit to wear. Skinny jeans, a cute top (sans Peter Pan collar), biker boots and a black leather jacket.  She takes a selfie and sends it to Skye.

 **YES/NO?**  She texts to Skye.

 **PGRRRRRROWWWWL** is the texted response.

**Thnxs**

**AND???????? _AND?????_**

**_ASGARDIAN  SEX GOD_. HE’S _AMAZING._ ALL NIGHT LONG!!!!!!! I’m EXHAUSTED! And S8D!!!!**

**:):) :):) :):)  Call me when you get a chance!! I want details, details, details!!! Fitz says Mazel Tov!**

**?????**

**Just go have fun!**

There’s a knock on the adjoining door and she tells Coulson to come in. She quickly puts away her phone and just in time, fortunately, as he leans in to kiss her. On the mouth and she’s holding onto him and then he’s kissing her neck.... she can’t think when he does that!

“What do you want to do today?” he asks after a great deal of snogging.  “In an upright position, as I need a chance to recover.”

“How about you tell me a little bit about yourself,” she requests.

He looks befuddled.

“How did you join SHIELD?” she asks.

He holds out his hand and then after she takes it, pulls her to the couch where they both sit.

“I was an Army Ranger. I think I was on my second or third mission with them when we ran into a HYDRA Base. It as an absolute cluster as the intel was wrong, SHIELD was on the base... and by the time we figured out who was on our side and who wasn’t, there was only me and a few guys left. One of the SHIELD agents had an ear piece and he was talking to his handler.  After he was shot, he told me to wear the piece.”

Phil closes his eyes, inhales and then exhales slowly several times.  When he’s composed, he continues. “I put it in my ear, and there was this calm, deep voice repeating over and over again, ‘Talk to me’.  The handler was Gunnie.”

Gunnie was a **_legendary_** handler, former Marine Corps. Rumored to have knocked down Dum Dum Dugan in a pitched fight over claiming an asset.  

“Gunnie didn’t recognize my voice as one of his people, but he was the lone voice of sanity in that nightmare. He just kept talking to me in a calm, composed voice while everything went to shit. He had just lost his entire team, a team that he had worked with for years, and he walked me through the base, had me finish the mission and he did pick up. He knew that I was in such a dark place that if I didn’t know anyone on the pick up team, I might do something stupid.”

Jemma says not a word, because Phil is a hundred, thousand, million miles away. She just squeezes his hand and in turn, he squeezes hers.

“Gunnie was correct. My patrol, they were my **_family_**.  My parents had died before I finished high school, bounced around with assorted relatives who didn’t want me. I went into the service right after I graduated. They were my brothers, and I had watched them all die. I think what kept me sane was this voice in my ear, that kept promising me, ‘Kid, I’m leading you of hell... but you just have to trust me’.”

After few minutes of quiet introspection, Phil sits back and easily laughs.

“So, this little guy shows up, doesn’t match the voice at all and there’s another guy. Big mountain of a man, red hair going to grey. He has a bowler cap, and he’s smoking a cigar. He’s also got a magnificent black eye.  The little guy tells the bigger guy, ‘The kid’s mine. I’ll knock you down again, Tommy, if you try to knick him from me again’. The big guy was Dum Dum Dugan, who apparently had been listening to Gunnie and me during the entire misadventure.  I impressed Dugan because I blindly followed all of Gunnie’s instructions.  I just wanted to get the hell out of there, and the voice in my ear was calmly telling me to take a right, so I took a right. Gunnie staked a claim, Dugan tried to outrank him and they had a friendly brawl about it in the middle of the command center. SHIELD was a bit rougher back then. They did shots after a successful mission.”

Simmons giggles.

“I was recruited, Gunnie and his wife quasi-adopted me, and here I am, many years later. Every time I talk to an agent, I try to remember what it’s like to be the one wearing the ear piece, while everything’s going to shit. That a calm voice can make everything better. You?”

“Recruited directory from the university,” she confesses. “Nowhere near as exciting as yours.”

“Sometimes, a little less excitement is a good thing.”

* * *

 

They end up walking through the Rose Kennedy Greenway that afternoon, an easy amble where they just chat and walk. It’s a great time for Jemma as Phil is comfortable enough with her now to permit himself to share his personal quirks.  For example, of all the food trucks, he hits the grilled cheese sandwich truck. He’s drawn to it like a magnet much to her disbelief.

“What?” he asks as he orders two grilled cheeses, with three types of cheese, add the tomato with a helping of American bacon. “I was recently assured that my LDLs are fantastic. That I have the heart of a thirty year old and the sexual stamina of a teenager.”

“Did not say that,” she protests.

“You thought it,” he quips. “Around four this morning.”

And he smirks, a distinctively bad boy smirk.

“Actually, I thought Asgardian Sex God,” she cheekily admits as she flits towards the Chubby Chickpea foodtruck.  She looks back and realizes that Phil J. Coulson is blushing. He is quite embarrassed.

She feels giddy as she’s managed to one up him.  However, he does look rather self-conscious so she stops smiling.

“I’m sorry...” she begins.

“Don’t be. You can call me Freyr,” he finally offers.

She giggles which makes him blush even more.

* * *

 

Sometimes during that afternoon walk, Jemma realizes that Phil’s hand is resting on her back. They are walking quite close while they’re laughing and chatting. She catches a brief glimpse of what they look like when they pass a store front.  They look like a **_couple_**.

“Bookstore,” Phil announces. “I love second hand book stores and I want to find the last Travis McGee novel as I haven’t read it. Shall we?”

She agrees and he holds the door open for her.  It’s a small shop, full of books haphazardly placed just so. In other words, one sneeze and it’s all coming down around them.

“Oh look, **_Harry Potter_** ,” he offers.   “Hermoine is your favorite, right? Brilliant girl who wasn’t ever aware of what a looker she really was.”

“And who was yours?” she asks.

“Mad Eye,” Coulson admits. “He fought the good fight. A lesser man would have rolled over and stayed dead. The kids, Harry and the rest, they just didn’t understand what he had endured and how much effort it took just to get out of that damn box and stand on his own feet again. Everyone treats him like a joke, except for only a few of them, that  truly understand what he’s been through. I admire him because he faced the world on his terms, damn the visible scars.”

She doesn’t say anything about his slip on the character of Mad Eye Moody. Instead she remembers witnessing his nightmare, his thrashing, the panicked, “ ** _Please, I’m begging you. Let me die!”_**

She stands on her tiptoes and she kissed him. In full view of the bemused shop owner, who decides to head towards the Sci-Fi section.

“You are truly amazing, Phil,” she tells him.  Because **_he is;_** because he’s been through hell and back again easily a half dozen times, survived to tell the tales, to wear the scars and he’s still **_Phil Coulson_**.

They kiss again, ignoring the fact that the shop door bell rings, announcing another visitor to the shop.  Jemma doesn’t notice that or how during their kiss, both Earth and Asgard have stopped their rotation, much to Heimdall’s bemused consternation.

“Freyr, let’s go back to bed,” she whispers. “But this time, please take off your shirt. Let me touch you, please.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he protests. “This weekend is for you.”

He’s just so sincere that she wants, even more, to reciprocate.

“I want to, because you always worry about us. For once, just let it go,” she pleads. “Tell me what you’d like me to do and I’ll do it.”

She would do anything. Really, she would.

“Would you mind...” Phil stops talking and she gives him an encouraging smile, while her mind is thinking naughty, naughty thoughts. “There’s a shop we just passed.”

Yes, there was a sex shop, she remembers, so she tries not to show her eagerness.

“There was massage oil. I’ll buy some, we take it back to the hotel and you could warm it while I take a long, hot shower. Then I’ll lie face down on the bed and you... you... Could you rub my back?  The scar catches sometimes, and I would love to be able to stretch. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to really stretch my back. If the scar doesn’t bother you, if it doesn’t disturb you too badly, could you massage my back for me?”

His blue eyes are quite uncertain, as though he thinks he’s daring to ask for far too much from her.

“It’s pretty ugly. Worse than the one on the front, so I understand...” he is withdrawing in front of her, pulling away.

 “Yes, I will massage your back,” she assures him. “And not just massage oil.   Aromatherapy is good for scars also.”

* * *

 

Ward takes a long, deep breath and he knocks on Fitz’s door. He can do this because he must. He doesn’t want to be separated from the team.  He’s gotten used to their little quirks.  Coulson and his ‘vette.  The fact that Fitz and Simmons speak as a team. Skye and her quips, even May, the woman behind the legend.

Yes, they were family.

His family.

 Functional and dysfunctional, maddening and reassuring all at the same time.

And he couldn’t lose that feeling of belonging. 

Not now, not ever.  

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN - Phil / Jemma with a heavy dose of an Phil's OC handler who curses. A lot.
> 
> Also thank you for everyone who has R&R.

"I believe that the person who invited heated towel racks should be nominated for sainthood," Phil Coulson quips. He's wearing sweat pants and what seems to be an extra large beach towel wrapped around his torso as it covers just about every bit of him except for his hands and his face. "Along the genius who decided heated bathroom titles was a good idea."

Jemma Simmons nods her head in easy agreement. Coulson had disappeared to take a warm shower to loosen his back almost an hour ago, so everything had been prepped, checked, re-prepped and checked again. She's managed to google, bing, yahoo and dogpile assorted techniques for sensual massages and she's eager and she's _**ready**_.

"Between the long shower and the warm towels, I'm feeling pretty limber. I don't really need a massage plus I made dinner reservations for later. I appreciate the use of your shower as between the rain shower head and the body sprayers; my back is the best it's been in far too long. Damn shame that I can't request that for the bus but Fury's still annoyed about the entire Peruvian 0-8-4," he says.

Really, Phil is exasperating, in his zealous desire to spare her supposed delicate sensibilities. It is sweet and endearing but truly vexing. She needs to channel her inner Melinda May. It's bit of a stretch, but she arches one eyebrow in her best "You're full of shite, Coulson".

He blinks and shakes his head. "That look only works on me if you're May."

He doesn't even try to hide his amusement.

"On the bed, Coulson," she orders.

"My back is feeling much better. Just a little too much pleasurable exertion," he insists.

"I plan on several more rounds of pleasurable exertion," she informs him. "It would be an absolute shame if my plan for continuing a weekend of sexual ecstasy were denied by a dodgy back."

Phil looks at her, and he is smiling a very crooked smile. "I'm not sure what I'm about to confess says about me. Jemma, this other side of you really terrifies yet truly excites me."

"It bloody well should," she enunciates as she forcefully points her finger into his chest.

He blanches, and flinches in real pain, as she is a klutz, and she had just poked his scar. Jemma had meant to be funny, not hurtful.

"Please, please don't do that again," he softly requests. "I've been blessed with both hyperalgia and allodynia. That is between you and me, because it's not on my medical records. They wouldn't let me back into the field if they realized that a single poke to the chest could have me writhing in pain."

Jemma apologizes and he just waves his hand in mute acceptance. "I just need to sit for a minute. Come sit by me, we need to talk."

She sits next to him and he puts her arm around her waist. She's nervous so she's trembling and he gently strokes her side.

"This has been a wonderful weekend for me," he assures her. "I'd prefer to skip the last five minutes though."

"It's been brilliant," is her immediate response. "And I'm so sorry... I..."

"The scepter entered through my back. It destroyed the nerves, so I don't have any sensitivity issues there. Front is a mixed bag. The scar is less, but it's hypersensitive in spot. You didn't hit the really sensitive spot as there are times it takes all I can do to button my shirt. I used to sleep on my stomach but not anymore."

He keeps rubbing her side and she doesn't say anything because inside, she's completely undone. Phil has done everything and then some to make this enjoyable weekend, and she had to bloody poke him in the scar. She tried to be feisty and flirtatious, but she succeeded in hurting him. Bugger, bugger, bugger!

"I'm letting you know that because before you massage my back, you'll need to give me a few minutes to make sure I'm comfortable lying on my stomach. Also, if the scar disturbs you, you don't have to massage my back."

* * *

 

His scar hurts like a son of a bitch and it is radiating throughout his body, but the mortified look on Jemma's face was far worse for him. She hadn't meant to hurt him, not Jemma, but she had perfectly nailed a rather sensitive spot with her fingertip. Not sure what to do, how to fix the sudden tension between them, he offers her the very real chance of hurting him again, with a back massage. It's a calculated risk, because if his back muscles would stop spasming, it could calm down the various other synapses that are firing like mad. He's always had a high pain tolerance but it's been a long weekend.

"I'll be careful," Jemma assures him when he is finally positioned just so. "I won't hurt you."

"I trust you," he informs her which earns him a blush from Jemma.

He falls asleep almost immediately much to Jemma's surprise as she has just gotten herself settled next to him and she is massaging the back of his head. If he was awake, he wouldn't be surprised, because Jemma is fun, but exhausting. This entire weekend he has been facing the bitter truth – that he's a fifty year old Lazarus who has been trying to sexually satisfy a much younger woman.

He'll be damn lucky if he doesn't end up in traction after this weekend.

And he can just imagine what Melinda would say.

* * *

 

_Phil Coulson finds himself on an abandoned helicarrier, however someone is loudly blowing the horn down the command center. It's a jazzy version of "When the Saints Go Marching in" and he walks toward it. Out of the corner of his eye, he realizes that he's wearing his old Army Rangers Fatigue and he looks so unbelievably young that no one currently on the bus would believe it was him. Another reflection farther down the hall shows an older Coulson with the crooked nose he had earned in a bar brawl in Latvia._

_It must be a dream, he realizes, but at least it's not one of his recurrent nightmares. While he believes that his battered psyche might have found a new way to torture him in his off hours, he knows only one man who plays the horn like **that**. And the only one brave enough to play in a SHIELD helicarrier. Phil, who is smiling, walks into the empty Command Center, the trumpet player stops wailing on his horn and a familiar deep voice says, "Talk to me, kid."_

_For a moment, Phil remembers the first time he heard that voice, and he's overwhelmed. It takes him a moment to compose himself so he gains time by a quip. "Does Fury know that you're playing Jazz in the Command Center?" Coulson asks his former handler who is quite utterly and completely dead. Phil knows this as he was a pall bearer at Andrew "Gunnie" St. John's funeral._

_"Used to piss Fury off as I'd practice during my lunch break, as you well remember. You'd sit in the corner of my office and eat your lunch while I played. It was my noble attempt to teach a savage to appreciate the better types of music." admitted the grey haired Gunnie. "That band last night was really good, kid, so I decided I wanted to play a bit. Sadly, acoustics suck here. Enough chitchat, talk to me, kid."_

_"You sound better than I remember," Phil snarks which earns him an amused half-smile from Gunnie, who is now younger than Phil is, and he's wearing his Marine dress blues. However, the high and tight haircut and the horn are constant._

_"Satchmo gives horn lessons in the afterlife, plus I've had years to practice," Gunnie cheerfully admits. "What's bothering you, kid?"_

_Phil slowly inhales and exhales and Gunnie pretends not to notice because he's polishing his horn._

_"I'm remembering what happened when I died. How I kept dying and being brought back. I remember them zipping the body bag shut. You were there," Phil quietly states. "I remember panicking and you were there, trying to keep me calm."_

_He remembers being pulled and torn asunder while an ethereal Gunnie leaned over his body, all the while calmly saying 'I'm here, Coulson. Talk to me, kid'._

_"I heard your screams when they pulled you back. You shook the very vaults of Heaven while you were in the midst of that vicious tug of war between all the Heavenly Hosts and Nick Fury," Gunnie admits. "Do you think I'd let a little thing like being **dead** stop me from being your handler? You needed me and I was there, kid. I've always been there. I was there when you shot that Asgardian Alien with that big fucking gun. You made me goddamn proud, kid. Everything was going to shit, even Capt'n America was being a fucking diva, but you knew what was important."_

_Coulson smiles because Gunnie has never once stopped calling him, KID, regardless of how old Phil is. And in spite of being dead, and one of the Heavenly Hosts, Gunnie still curses like a Marine._

_"Did I leave part of myself behind?" Phil asks. "I don't feel...right."_

_"Let's take a drive, kid." Gunnie is now sitting in Lola and Phil is in the passenger seat. Phil doesn't need to look at himself to know he's back to wearing his Ranger fatigues because Gunnie is in a suit and has dark hair. Like when they first met face to face and Gunnie had taken Phil for a ride in Lola. It was a trip to his house for a home cooked meal, a shower and a clean bed rather than the scheduled debriefing. "How's Lola? I see you polish her regularly."_

_"She's a lady," Phil says, which earns an approving smile from Lola's first owner._

_"That fact that you and Melinda are working together again made me take a double take, however I'm glad." Gunnie says as he floors the gas so they are wildly careening through the empty corridors of the helicarrier while jazz plays overhead. "That Ward kid, reminds me of someone I knew a long, long time ago. No people skills, overly protective and didn't play well with others, pissing his fellow team members into quitting."_

_Gunnie grins like the madman he was rumored to be._

_"Me," Phil Coulson easily acknowledges._

_"It's no surprise that Melinda is..." Gunnies pauses with a single arched eyebrow._

_"Watch it," Phil growls._

_"Attempting the friends with benefit plans. Isn't that how you two started? Though both of them seem to be the old Phil Coulson in that relationship."_

_Yes, the younger Melinda had been the tutor in their relationship, showing him how to be, how to behave, how to give and more importantly, receive affection. When Melinda had died in Bahrain, and in her place was The Cavalry, he had struggled to repeat the process with her, to trust him enough to permit affection until that dark day that she had presented him with the divorce papers._

_Because he loved her, he had let her go._

_And because part of him had never stopped loving her, it still had bitterly stung when he realized that she was involved with Ward._

_Not that it could ever go back to how it had been between them, but he'd kill Ward if he hurt Melinda._

_"Not saying as I don't kiss and tell," Phil primly retorts which earns a snort from Gunnie._

_"Anyway, you gave Ward the same speech that I gave you, I noticed. Word for word, pretty much. After all these years, you couldn't even be bothered to improve on it?"_

_Coulson shrugs his shoulders in easy agreement. "The classics work best. I figured it motivated me, it would motivate him. Like you, I put it out there and he's got to fix it. When I had the problem with Roberts, you didn't fix it as it was my attitude, my problem, I had to fix it. Worked out for the best in the end. Roberts was a good guy, even if he was a pain in the ass."_

_Gunnie's going eighty, easily, in the corridors and they are getting closer and closer to a spot where Phil doesn't wish to go._

_"This new team of yours? The orphan trying to find a family to belong to, the misfits who were bullied by SHIELD, the loner who wants more, but doesn't have the faintest idea how, the traumatized vet. Phil, your team is you, at various stages in your life. What are you trying to prove to yourself? And seriously that girl is half your age, Coulson! Spirited though, that bit with Jasper! Dum Dum and I laughed until we cried. We were surprised that itty bitty girl managed to drag Jasper by his feet. Though don't tell my wife that girl is a looker, kid. If she played the cello, she'd be perfect."_

_Sly grin at that comment as Gunnie's wife had played the cello._

_"I heard that," a female voice, with a pronounced English accent, announces._

_"Rosie, get out of Phil's dream!" Gunnie roughly orders. "I'm breaking enough rules now to talk to the kid. Not bringing you down too, Rosie."_

_There's a brief feeling in his soul, as though Rosie St. John had quickly embraced him. God, he had always adored Gunnie's wife, as she had given him the first sense of normality and stability. Phil's mother had tried but she had been lost in grief over her husband's death and...his childhood had been chaotic._

_"You were always partial to the English girls, Gunnie," Phil reminds his mentor. "And hello, Rose. Jemma's... just so... innocent. Her life is an open book and she's receptive to all these new experiences. I won't lie, her interest flattered me, but I'm damaged. I tried to point her towards someone more suitable, but ..." Long pause. "I needed to know if I was still capable..."_

_"If you were still human?" Gunnie knocks Phil, hard, on his forehead. "Or a LMD?"_

_"Was it necessary to hit me that hard?" Phil asks with real annoyance._

_"Pain is how Marines teach things. You know that. However, you know how it goes. Keep talking or I starting hitting," laughs Gunnie._

_"I wasn't sure if I was capable of still feeling affection," Phil confesses. "Since I died, I feel like there's a wall between me and everyone else."_

_"'Course there is, kid. You died and you were forcibly ripped back, Lazarus."_

_"I didn't want to come back," Phil admits._

_"I know," Gunnie admits. "Fury intervened and did something. He thought he owed you for getting those goddamn divas to work together and saving the fucking universe, because Earth would have just been a stepping stone to Ragnarok. And Phil, if God didn't want you back on Earth, the Head Honcho wouldn't have permitted it. Regardless of Nicky's ego, the Big Guy made the final decision to let you go back. There's something about the experience that has transformed you and that change is needed in SHIELD."_

_Phil nods and he realizes that Lola is slowing down._

_"You've done good, kid. That bit with Akela Amadour? Busted my buttons in pride over you, drove Dum Dum crazy talking about how you did the right thing. But he's fucking crazy anyway, so it wasn't that far of a drive."_

_Out of nowhere, Gunnie is hit in the head with a rather familiar bowler hat. He rubs the back of his neck as the impact smarts._

_"Bastard," Gunnie curses in the direction of the invisible Dum Dum. "I can handle this, Tommy boy. Don't need you looking on like I'm a raw recruit. Got to go, kid, the boys in SHIELD have been distracting Archangel Michael, but he just noticed I'm AWOL. Mike's a fucking Marine through and through, so he's giving me a little leeway. We always take care of our own, even though you're Army."_

_Lola has stopped and Gunnie turns off the car. There is only a closed door between them and where the Phase II mock up resides. Where Phil J. Coulson died._

_"You know where we are," Gunnie says. He gives Coulson a rub on the back of his neck, his rough and rare way of showing affection._

_"Where I died," Phil admits._

_"Where you were transformed," is Gunnie's retort. "Phil, I'll be there when it's really your time to move in."_

_Something eases inside Phil, a tightness, a fear that he didn't realize as he had been successful in hiding from himself._

_"I'm permitted to go back?" he whispers. That had been his worst nightmare, the one he had never share with anyone, where he was not permitted to return. Instead, he dreamt of countless millennia of never knowing peace._

_"Helllll...ven yes!" Gunnie authoritatively announces after a near slip into blasphemy._

_"It was ... beautiful," slowly admits Phil._

_"It only gets better, kid. Can't wait to introduce you to everyone. Now, shuffle off to Buffalo."_

_Phil and Gunnie get out of Lola, and Gunnie is suddenly serious. He's the older Gunnie with the white hair but the sharpest eyes Phil had ever known._

_"Phil? That kid, **Skye**?" There are a thousand unasked questions that Gunnie doesn't voice, but Phil hears them all._

_"Someone took me under their wing when I was young. Saved me from myself and my personal demons. I've always remembered how he didn't have to do it because he didn't know me from Adam, and I try to pay it forward," Phil says._

_"I did it, because I saw something in you, kid. As you're well aware, I'm never ever wrong," the young Gunnie easily admits with all his Marine self-assurance._

_"Thank you, for everything," Phil says._

_"Kid?" Gunnie asks. He's suddenly a gawky teenage Marine in brand new fatigues. "When you get here, you'll introduce me to **Steve Rogers** , won't you?"_

_"I'd be delighted," Phil says. "I'll introduce you to the whole gang, except I'm not sure how Thor would fit in here."_

_Gunnie grins, before he grabs his trumpet and begins to play a very lively version of "There Will be Some Changes Made." Meanwhile he uses his foot to point Phil towards the door. Phil nods his head, takes a deep breath and opens the door._

* * *

 

He finds himself lying face down on Jemma's bed. She's very gently massaging his neck and shoulders and he's content to drift. The dream... visitation... with Gunnie mustn't have taken that long, because she's only gotten to his neck and shoulders. His back is still bothering him, so he's trying not to move. However, in spite of his physical pain, there's a lightness in his soul that had been missing since his death.

"You're sleeping. I'm glad," she whispers. "You wouldn't be sleeping if you were still in pain. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm such a klutz."

She's quiet for a moment, but her hands continue with nice, long strokes which feel very nice.

"I've had such a fantastic weekend, and it's only Saturday," she admits, while giggling. "I know once we're back on the bus, this can't continue. But I will always fondly remember everything. Well, except for poking you in the chest and you doubling over in pain. I think I'll just gloss over that when I mentally rewind this weekend."

Phil bits his lip as he will not laugh. He's also trying, unsuccessfully, not to smile as Jemma's stream-of-consciousness conversations are rather amusing, though a tad confusing at times.

"You've asked me what I want from this weekend and I haven't told you what I really want. Because I know you won't understand. I've watched you, since I joined the team, and I fear that you're the loneliest person I know. Not even Ward is as lonely as you, because he just doesn't seem to comprehend what he's missing, but you know. I've seen you watching the team and you look so unbelievably solitary that my heart breaks for you. You try to hide it, but I see it."

Phil swallows once, twice, three times, trying to convince the lump in the throat to behave.

She leans down and kisses the base of his neck. It's a quick, butterfly kiss.

"I want you to remember this weekend when you're alone in your office. When you feel that you're utterly alone, I want you to smile and remember this weekend. How you made this slip of girl so happy because you're amazing. The flowers, the jazz, the dancing."

Another kiss is placed just so, right underneath the first kiss.

"You think you're MadEye because you're damaged and you have scars. But this Hermoine always knew MadEye to be the consummate survivor. He was brave, determined and never surrendered. And he had this adorable, exotic accent. And in the battle in the Ministry of Magic, even though he was hurt, he took care of Tonks. Really, being a MadEye is much better than being Sirius Black, whose only good quality is that Gary Oldman had nice hair."

He smiles, because really, Simmons is adorable when she rambles. Plus what man wouldn't like to be seen as a survivor?

She continues rubbing his back for some time and then she very carefully touches the scar. He can sense it only because he feels the palm of her hand on both sides of the scar, but he feels nothing where the scar is.

"The scar is so tight and rough," she whispers. "No wonder your back bothers you. I'll have to look into how to ease the scar tissue somehow. Once it's not so tight, I'm sure it would help your muscles."

Jemma stops massaging for a bit and then she calls his name, "Phil? You awake?"

He mumbles something as though he's dosing.

"It will be cold for a moment," she warns him before she starts massaging him again. Her hands are cold, not terribly cold, but it's like bloody nirvana on his back. After a long time, she announces that she's done.

The bed shifts as Jemma leaves. She pulls the covers over him and leaves down to give him a kiss on his cheek. Phil reaches for her and gives her a proper kiss before he plants a lingering kiss on both of her hands.

"I promise you that when I am feeling particularly lonely, I will think of this weekend and smile," he assures her. "I truly mean that."

Simmons' surprised smile is as beautiful a sunrise, he realizes. Oh, dear God, he's got it so fucking bad.

"Don't forget we have reservations for dinner in a bit," he reminds her. "Then dancing. You better get changed."


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

AN - Someone asked me if there an actual ship name for Coulson / Simmons? Anyone have any ideas? :)

* * *

Phil Coulson is a strong man. Been an Army Ranger, SHIELD Agent, even did field surgery on himself once or twice but... Jemma Simmon’s dress... Sweet Mother of God.

If being stabbed in his heart hadn’t already killed him multiple times, causing his heart to be rebuilt and enhanced in God knows what ways; this dress would have put him into cardiac arrest. And let the record show that he is grateful for whatever they had done to fix his ticker.

“You like it,” she grins.

“It’s... nice,” he whispers, his mouth unexpectedly dry.

“I picked this one by myself,” she explains, rather proudly, as she **_loves_** the stunned look on his face.  “Same color as Lola.”

The dress is candy apple red and it clings. Not too tightly, so she can still dance, but enough so it’s obvious she’s a girl.  Not that Phil possesses any doubts after worshipping her physical form all blessed night long.

“She doesn’t wear her paint like that,” Phil admits, before he flushes. When did his collar get so damn tight?

“You’re cute when you blush,” Jemma blurts and then Phil turns really red.  “I keep forgetting. Field agents aren’t supposed to blush.”

“Rule number five in the handbook,” Phil quips.  “Plus, I’m not used to being called cute in anything besides a paternal way, as in, isn’t he cute, isn’t it amazing that he’s still breathing...”

Phil pauses and Jemma just takes his head in her hands before she gives him a kiss. A proper kiss that causes him to feel faint from lack of breathing.

_Breathe, Coulson. Breathe._

“You’re a survivor,” she reminds him. “You keep fighting the good fight, Mad Eye.”

 _You’re absolutely amazing_ , he thinks.  

Oh dear God, he’s got it so bad.

If he wasn’t her supervisor, if he wasn’t twenty odd years her senior, if he wasn’t damaged.... if he was still able to love unconditionally.... but he’s not. Not anymore. Not since the day he signed the divorce papers.

And she deserves so much more.

But dear God, he wishes he could be all he used to be, and more.

“Let’s go,” she says, while wearing THAT dress combined with a very coy smile.

* * *

Fitz’s apartment door opens very slowly and there is a very loud Scottish sigh when Fitz realizes that it’s Ward. Again.

“Git it up yie,” growled Fitz.

Ward wasn’t sure what that meant, but he believes it comes close to fuck off and die.

“I come bearing a white flag and sugar mice,” offers Ward.  “I want to apologize again for being an idiot.”

Fitz says nothing, but he shakes his head.

“I have a really great idea,” Sky opines from the hallway. “I’ll get chips at the Quickie Mart as we’re out of snacks.”

“Actually go to the bodega, they’ve got Sriracha crisps,” Fitz requests.

“I’ll order sandwiches,” Skye suggests as it’s almost dinner, and playing Avengers is hard work. After ordering the sandwiches, she leaves the boys alone after she gives Ward a poke and hisses, “Behave.”

It’s a lovely late afternoon, and it’s a short walk in a safe neighborhood, so she’s content to take her time.  Plus the boys need to bang on their chests and piss on the floor, or some sort of garbage like that. Maybe she was a bit too complacent as a large male body bumps into her, and twirls her around. Her arm is bent behind her and he’s putting sufficient pressure on her forearm for her to worry.

“Get into the car,” the voice orders. “Do what I say and you won’t get hurt.”

She gives it her best effort and he still throws her into the back of car after divesting her of her cell phone.  Easily.  Professionally. She can’t even open the doors as they lock. The driver gets in the car and looks into his rear view mirror. To her horror, Skye knows this man by reputation only and she was hoping never **_ever_** to meet him.

Payback is a bitch, and right now, she’s his bitch. And he’s grinning.

“You?” she whispers. The bastard laughs and Skye’s heart sinks.  “I’m so sorry about what happened! I am! I am! I didn’t mean for it to happen the way it did, but seriously this isn’t necessary. I thought it had been all settled!”

“Enjoy the ride. If you behave, I’ll explain what’s happening before we get to our destination,” her driver informs her.

And the bastard closes the partition between the driver and the passenger area, leaving her enclosed in a dark area as the windows are tinted so dark that she can’t see out. If that’s not enough, he starts playing music. Loud seventies music and she bangs on the partition as really, this nightmare is above and beyond.

_Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk; I'm a woman's man, no time to talk  
Music loud and women warm; I've been kicked around since I was born..._

**_DISCO!_ **

His voice cuts in, “By the way, your pretty bracelet won’t help.”

Again, the laugh, a very amused laugh as Skye is completely and utterly screwed.

“Fuck,” Skye curses. “I’m in so much trouble.”

Determined to fight back, no matter how pitifully, she yells, “If you do the entire Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, I’ll go crazy and you won’t get any information from me. When my team finds out....”

“What makes you think I want information?” is piped into the back of the car as she feels the car pick up speed. “And your team is in shambles. I think half has been reassigned or have requested a reassignment. Really, there is no team. Don’t bother to deny it. Do you think May is gonna bother to locate you?”

Skye sinks back as well, she rather doubts it.  AC yes, but May, no not at all as May views her as _**Coulson’s Biggest Mistake Ever**_.

In front of the car, the driver laughs.  Capture the Flag was always his favorite game and he’s not the one that has to listen to the Bee Gee’s greatest hits.  Plus a heaping serving of Gilbert O’Sullivan.

No, he was always a fan of Rave music, much to his amused disbelief of his former SO.  He owes him a lot, for taking a chance on a scrawny former gang member who nobody wanted to mentor.

* * *

Ward stumbles through an apology, a rather sincere apology and Fitz just looks at him before he turns away and returns back to his game console. It seems that he had paused his game in mid-battle so he decides that’s it far more important to finish the game.

“You can play Skye’s character. She’s the Hulk,” Leo offers.

“Freudian,” decides Ward.

They are busy battling Loki’s minions when Melinda May arrives. She just lets herself in with a spare key and watches the boys for a minute.

“Where’s Skye?” She asks. “She called me, said she was getting sandwiches and asked what I wanted. That was at least an hour ago.”

“An hour?” Fitz asks, even while his character Captain America is gutted and dies a rather inglorious death.

“Let me check,” Melinda offers. She looks at her cell phone and she looks concerned. “Actually, one hour and twelve minutes ago. Where is she getting them? Hoboken?”

“No, down the street,” Leo says.

“Let me call her,” Melinda decides. She calls, and then shakes her head. “Getting her voice mail. Both your cars are in the lot, so she didn’t take one.”

“Calling the sandwich shop,” Ward says.  He speaks to someone and then says, “I’ll be by to pick them up. We got distracted. Thank you.”

He hangs up, and then he announces, “She never picked them up. Their phone calls to her went to her voice mail.”

Leo grabs his phone and begins to tap wildly. “Her cell phone is roughly five hundred feet from here. I also cannot detect her bracelet. She went off the grid approximately one hour ago but the alarm status was changed to bracelet malfunctioning – in custody of SHIELD. It happened so quickly that there was very little transition time. The alarm didn’t sound, so nobody knows that she’s off the grid. Coulson wasn’t even notified.”

“Cell phone first,” Melinda decides. “Then we get the sandwiches.”

At the boys’ twin looks of stunned disbelief, she sighs, “I’m hungry. Rule #8 in the SHIELD handbook? Eat when you can. And if she’s managed to slip the bracelet, we need to quickly find her as they’ll blame Coulson.”

“Checking surveillance cameras between here and there,” Leo announces as he tweaks his console.

The three intently peer at the video and then Melinda announces. “There she is.”

Skye is meandering when she bounces into a nondescript male wearing a dark hat and dark clothes. She is easily spun around, disabled and thrown into the back of a car even while the man places her cell phone on a high windowsill.  Then he turns around, and flashes a gesture directly at the surveillance camera before he makes his escape.

“He knew the camera was there, and he **_posed_**?”  Ward asks.

“That was a gang sign,” Leo stated.  “Cross referencing. It’s coming back as belonging to The Maras?”

Ward looks impressed at the width and breadth of Leo’s arcane knowledge while May looks dyspeptic.  “Come on, we’re going. Bring the computer.”

* * *

“This was a professional job,” Ward states.  “It was quick, fast and done on a busy street and no one noticed. Though the posing with the gang signs?”

He grabs Skye’s cell phone carefully from its hiden location and Leo scans it.

“Cell phone was deliberately placed so only someone that knew it was there would locate it. He didn’t throw it into the rubbish bin,” Leo announces.  “There are smudge marks from gloves. All other prints come back to people on our team.”

“What are we informing Coulson?” Ward asks.

“We’re not until we have more information. He’s in Boston, which is normally four hours away unless you drive like Coulson,” Melinda decides.

Leo looks confused.

“He speeds,” Ward explains. “That little known department in HR that fix vehicle violations?  He had his own set person to handle all his tickets and his car insurance.  Millie spoke at his memorial service about how he would buy her lunch at least once a week. It was rather moving; she was quite broken up because he has gotten stopped in all fifty states and fourteen foreign nations.”

“Professional hit. Seemingly waiting for Skye and he knew that she’d sooner or later to the bodega,” Melinda announces. “Fitz? Does the bodega have a camera?”

“Pulling it,” Leo announces. After a few minutes, he shares his information, “He was in the shop. Bought plantain chips and chicharrones. Paid cash.”

“He’s Cuban?” Ward asks.

“Or has an appreciation for food,” Leo said. “Fried pork belly?”

He grimaces. Let them think it's because of the chcharrones. Truth is he's trying to hide his fear that he’ll be forced to relive his failure to protect Jemma Simmons, though this time Skye was the victim. He'll be so much happier when he's back at Sci-Ops.

Ward notices and realizes anew the damage his biting criticism had caused the Scottish engineer.

_Shit, he’s scared of failing._

“Good thing Fitz is here to hack the electronics,” Ward announces to May, who nods her head in easy agreement. He notices that Fitz’s color improves and his breathing has eased somewhat.

 “Pick up the sandwiches, Ward. Ask them if they remember him,” Melinda decides.

* * *

They’re in Ward’s truck Ford F-150 in the parking lot of the bodega and they’re reviewing what they know.

“They said he was polite, professional, spoke English without an accent but he pronounced what he ordered correctly, like a native,” Ward shares. “Professional hit. Possible gang member or former gang member.”

“Seems to know about the bracelets and was able to change the status of the bracelet in the SHIELD database so there’s no alarm,” Fitz inserted. “Possibly means SHIELD is involved.”

“Or it’s a member of the Rising Tide who has managed to infiltrate SHIELD. Where’s our buddy Miles?” May asks.

“Hong Kong,” Leo announces after a brief search.  “Still hasn’t been in contact with very many people except for the American Consulate. It seems they’re not being very helpful.”

“Don’t ever piss off Coulson,” Melinda sagely announces.

Skye’s phone rings. It lights up as RESTRICTED.

“Tracing,” Fitz announces.

* * *

Jasper Sitwell attaches his burner cell phone to a voice modifier and dials.

“Hello?” a female voice asks.

“Hello agent. I have your asset. Instructions for your team will be forthcoming.”

Click.

Really, if it wasn’t for the fact that he owes Phil Coulson his life a half dozen times or more, he wouldn’t want to be involved in Phil’s team building exercise. Melinda May scares him to death. He hopes that he had left enough hints at the scene for Melinda NOT to kill him if and when they meet up, but Phil Coulson better have his ass there at the finish line.  Plus, he had just used the Capture the Flag script verbatim just now.

Really, he hadn’t struck a gang pose in years.  Decades, even, and there were very few people that remembered that Jasper Arturo Sitwell was the product of a broken home, a life in the projects and a lot of tough love from Phil Coulson, the SHIELD agent he had successfully pick pocketed.  

“Are you done yelling?” He asks the girl in the back as he pulls into a rest stop in Connecticut.  The girl has a set of lungs as he’s got a headache.

“NO,” she shrieks.

“Read this, it’s from Coulson,” he says. He opens the divider just a smidge and pushes in an envelope. “I would have given it to you sooner, but it was a true pleasure listening to you curse. You have a wonderful vocabulary. Coulson must love you.”

“I wish I had the night night gun,” she retorts. “You wouldn’t be so smug then.”

“I was tempted to give you a bathroom break,” is his immediate response.

She’s a tiny girl, and therefore, his correlation that she has the world’s smallest bladder is correct as she immediately settles down.

“Read the note, then potty break. Knock on the widow, and we’ll talk.  Screaming and cursing at me will deny you a potty break.”

Jasper Sitwell was a firm believer in tough love.  It had done wonders for him, after all.

* * *

After a few minutes, there is a tentative knock on the partition. He scrolls it down and he looks in his rear view mirror. Skye gives him a very winning smile but he notices that she’s torn Coulson’s note to shreds. As well as she should as Jasper had read it, including the part where Coulson informed her that he couldn’t have risked his plan being revealed by actually warning her about what he had put into effect. 

_I would have, but you’re not that good an actress, Skye. You wouldn’t have fooled May. Sitwell and I go way back. He is doing me a favor, so don’t be mean to him._

“May I please go to the bathroom, Agent Sitwell?”

She is all meekness and sweetness.

“Seriously, do you anticipate that I’ll fall for that from **_you_** after dealing with you and your British sidekick?” He asks.  “And I know which one of you was the mastermind. Don’t bat your eyes and pretend that you have a sexual fetish for men who shave their heads.”

“I do,” she coos and Jasper just stares at her with his best don’t-fuck-with-the-big-boys,-kid.

The facade fades and in its place is the scared little girl look, which he trusts not one bit. He’s used a scared little boy face on quite a few people. Didn’t work on Coulson, not one bit, which is why Coulson has him Capturing the Flag.  Because Jasper Arturo Sitwell is a card-carrying-former-bracelet-wearing-for-three-fucking-years-Tasered-and-lived-to-weep-about-it-graduate-of-the-Phil-J.-Coulson-school-of-tough-love. While Jasper Sitwell is loyal to SHIELD, there is a deeper, personal loyalty to Coulson. Fortunately, the two loyalties have never put him at odds, but one day, it might happen.

After the Battle of New York, he had held a proper Irish wake for Coulson because Coulson had no family, no one to mourn him except for his coworkers.  The team had done shots until they couldn’t stand and they had continued drinking toasts to him because Phil Coulson had died, still believing in heroes, and he had died a big godamn hero.

“I don’t date women who put me in the hospital,” he snaps.

“What?” she says. Her eyes twitch, which mean she wasn’t anticipating that response.

“Concussion. Thank you. I was flat on my back with a migraine for three days thanks to you two,” he retorts. “Now, you understand what’s happening. Coulson has decided that he needs your team to remember that they are a team by forcing everyone to play Capture the Flag. He’s taking a rather large risk by you being the flag, because if you run, Coulson will look very bad. I don’t want that, and I’m sure you won’t either. He’s taking enough of a risk on you.”

“Understood, Agent Sitwell,” she agrees. He trusts her response because she’s loyal to Coulson.

“Jasper,” he insists. “I’ll walk you to the rest room.  Since you will be out in the open and not in this shielded car, it will display your location thanks to your bracelet. Since your team is actively searching for you, they’ll think that it’s a momentary blip. Try not to take too long, we don’t want them getting suspicious that they’re being played.”

“I hate the nanny,” she says, even while she glares at the silver bracelet.

“You may find that once you stop wearing it, you’ll wish you were wearing it again,” he informs her. “I wore mine for three years until I earned the right for its removal.  Once it was removed, my SO wasn’t always sure where I was. It felt odd to be on my own. It was exhilarating and terrifying.”

“Who was your SO?” she asks.

“Coulson.”

* * *

“Did you get a trace?” Ward asks.

“I84, Danbury Connecticut,” Fitz announces.

“Buckle up,” Melinda announces, as she guns the motor and takes a hard right out of the parking lot.  “I know a few short cuts.”

The rag tag team is silent for some time, intent on locating Skye when Leo announces, “Bracelet is reading that they are currently at a rest station on I-91 in Connecticut. Trying to piggy back into the cameras at the rest station.”

“He’s trying to avoid Hartford traffic,” Ward chimes in.

“Bracelet’s location is no longer transmitting. However, I think I’ve narrowed down the possible vehicles. It looks like a SHIELD transport vehicle, which explains the shielding,” is Fitz’s input.

May pulls into the breakdown lane and motions that she wishes to review the video. She stares at it and then shakes her head.  Pulling out her cell phone, she hits speed dial before putting it on speaker.

One ring, two rings, three rings and then a male voice answers.

“Hello,” says the voice. “You’ve reached my voice mail. I am currently unable to come to the phone, because I’ve been abducted by aliens for clinical research. Please leave a message and I’ll return it as soon as I make my escape.”

“Coulson. Call me. Immediately,” May snaps.

She dials another number and a female voice answers, “Hello. Revere Hotel, may I help you?”

“Phil Coulson’s room please. I believe he has a suite?” Melinda asks.

“There is no one here by that name, Ma’am.”

“Jemma Simmons?” is her next attempt.

“I’m afraid neither people are staying here,” the front desk staff states.  “Have you tried...”

“St. John. Is there a Thomas St. John registered for a suite?”  Melinda requests.

“Transferring,” the front desk announces just before their call is transferred to another voice mail.

“FLAG,” May snaps into the phone before she disconnects. “Skye’s fine. Coulson may not be.”

“What?” Fitz and Ward both ask in real confusion.

“This Skye-napping is defying any... any... rational explanation. Hartford? And the ‘Hello agent. I have your asset. Instructions for your team will be forthcoming’? Agent. Asset. Team? SHIELD prisoner transport? Is Coulson playing Capture the Flag? I think this is just so you two can prove to each other that you can work together, but I’m not completely sure,” May admits.

* * *

Jasper permits her to sit in the front seat so Skye gratefully agrees.

“No more Bee Gees,” she insists.

“Coulson suggested it. Said you hate disco,” Jasper admits while he gives her a bright smile.

“This Capture the Flag business, what if they don’t realize?” Skye slowly asks.   _What if Fitz doesn’t realize, and he worries?_

“I followed the handbook to the letter. Used the codes words, followed the schedule for communication, so they should realize,” Sitwell advises. “The plan is that the entire team meets tomorrow night in Boston for dinner.”

“Coulson better pay,” Skye dryly states.

“Knowing May, he will pay,” Sitwell agrees.

* * *

He dances with Jemma at a happening spot that Pepper Potts had recommended a lifetime or more ago.   She's light on her feet and he teaches her a few more advanced steps. 

"Did you make reservations for dinner?" She asks after they're too tired to dance.

"No, figured we could just find a place," he admits.

She whispers something in his ear and he gives her a very crooked smile before he assures her that yes, they could skip dinner and go back to their hotel room. 


	9. Chapter 9

A/N – We come to the end of our story. Thank you visiting and reading. I do apologize as the plot bunny took a hard left midway through this chapter. I was rather surprised but the characters (Coulson and May) insisted.

Thanks to Sineater for being a muse on this chapter.

-=-=-=

“What shall we do now?” Simmons asks Phil once they get back to her room. She’s eager and curvy and obviously feeling frisky.

“Do you have any ideas?” he asks. Playing dumb can be quite useful, especially now when the vixen leans on her tippy toes and whispers her secret desire in Phil’s ear. He smiles and nods his head.

“However, if you really want to undress me, there is a price,” Phil states. He tries to look stern but fails. It’s the laughing blue eyes that betray his inner amusement.

“I’ve got my dollar bills handy,” Simmons chirps and Phil blushes. Again.  The fact that Jemma can cause him to blush really amuses Jemma.  Phil just points his finger at her and shakes his head.  She leans and kisses the Coulson Finger of Amused Disbelief.

“What’s the price? Do you take Visa?” Jemma flirts.

“I want a kiss for each article of clothes you remove,” he decides. “Preferably while you’re disrobing me. Though I’ll remove my firearms from the holsters if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t want a premature discharge,” Simmons teases as she licks her lips.

“No more champagne for you,” Phil announces.  “Ready for the show?”

“Am I,” Jemma giggles while Phil puts his right foot on the chair. He pulls up his pant leg to display one shapely ankle, clad in a black sock, complete with an ankle holster.  Jemma whistles in appreciation and Phil dimples.

He removes the weapon, confirms that the safety is on and places it on the table.

“Kiss,” he demands.

It’s a long kiss, then he removes a knife from his left ankle... and so it takes a while for Jemma to undress him.

Really, it’s Phil’s own fault for what happens next.  If he wasn’t trying to out-Widow the Black Widow, there wouldn’t have been such a large amount of armament that needed to be removed.   Then again, he would have been naked when the Cavalry arrived.

-=-=

“Coulson hasn’t called back,” Ward states.

Melinda May says nothing, as she is not amused.  Instead, she pulls into the Revere Hotel and parks her vehicle.  Fitz believed that she had broken the speed of sound to get to the Hotel and he’s quite thankful that he’s still alive.  She’s never been particularly talkative but the idea that Coulson has rigged this entire weekend has turned her into a brooding thundercloud.

“We’re going in,” she orders.

She storms past the front desk, enters the elevator and punches the floor for Coulson’s suite.

“What are we doing?” Fitz nervously asks.

“Proving to Coulson how well we work together,” May announces.

“Bugger,” Fitz says which earns him a confused look from Ward. “Are we breaking down the hotel door? It’s a very good way to get arrested. Can’t we just knock and claim we’re room service?”

Because Fitz is a good boy and barging into Coulson’s hotel room, unannounced, is an excellent way to get shot.

“Magnetic stripe readers are easy to fool. That’s your job,” May explains.

“What if he’s....”  Fitz pauses while Ward swallows and mumbles, “Not thinking about it.”

“He mock kidnapped one of our team. Payback is required,” May announces. “Knowing Coulson, probably Skye and our gang member are in his room right now.”

Actually, when they opened the door, they did not discover Skye and the gang-member-SHIELD-operative in the room.  Instead, Phil, whose shirt was unbuttoned, was energetically kissing Simmons who was giving as good as she got. Simmons had his undone tie in her hands and she was using it to tie his hands behind his back. The passionate kissing continued while the three interlopers sharply inhaled in true surprise.

It might have been the surprise of Skye not being there. Or it might be because Phil Coulson twirled Simmons behind him even while he pulled out his concealed weapon and pointed it, with deadly accuracy, at Melinda May.

“What the fuck,” he cursed. “What you doing here, Melinda?”

“Where’s Skye?” May asked.

“Not here,” Coulson growled. “Give me one good reason why the hell you’re here and I won’t shoot you. Or maybe I’ll shoot Ward, as he looks like he’s begging to be put out of his misery. What’s the problem? Thought you were the only Romeo on the bus, Ward? Why didn’t anyone think to knock?”

“Can you put the gun down, Sir?” Fitz requests.

“I’m deciding who I want to shoot, however of the Three Stooges, you’re the only safe one,” he announces. “Now, I want you three out of my room. You will close the door and then knock like normal people. I will open the door and invite you in. Understand that if there isn’t a reasonable explanation, I will shoot to kill.”

“Coulson,” May protests.

The Coulson Finger is presented however it is three times as threatening as he has a loaded Beretta in the Coulson Hand of Silent Chastisement. Coulson pushes them out of the door and firmly closes it behind him.

“He didn’t even button his shirt,” Fitz whispers. “He has never willingly shows his scar and ....he didn’t even try to hide it. He’s pissed. I should never have left the lab, as pissing off Coulson is a very bad thing.”

“Where’s Skye?” Ward asks. It is the question of the hour, and it still hasn’t been answered.

“She might be in the bar,” May announces though Fitz believes that she doesn’t sound very convinced. She knocks on the door and they hear Coulson query, “Who is it?”

“May,” she announces.

Phil Coulson waits to open the door, no doubt to finish getting dressed as he is in dress shirt and tie when he opens the door.

“Would you like to come in, Melinda?” His voice is quite polite but controlled.

“Yes,” she says.

“An apology will be forthcoming to Simmons,” Coulson quietly states. “From all three of you, **_especially_** **_you_** , **_Melinda_**.”

The two senior agents stare at each other, and for a wonder, May looks away first.

“Yes, Sir,” Ward says while Fitz echoes.

“Why are you here?”  Coulson asks. Jemma Simmons is sitting on the couch, wearing Coulson’s suit jacket over a slinky red dress with matching strappy heels.  Her face matches her dress, least what they can see as her hair is hiding her face.

Coulson sits next to her and deliberately places his arm around her shoulder. He then glares at Ward, as though to say, “This is how an adult handles a relationship. In the open, without sneaking around.”

“You didn’t answer your phone, and I left a message on your hotel room phone,” May states which earns her a dirty look from Coulson.  “Skye was kidnapped.”

Simmons inhales in surprise, while Phil Coulson’s face turns dark. “Continue.”

“By someone we believe to be a SHIELD agent as he used the Capture the Flag protocol verbatim. You are well known for your team building exercises,” May explains.

“Traditionally, I have thrown misbehaving team members out of an airplane with only a parachute and a container of peanut butter. They land in the middle of the Sierra Nevadas and they have to work their way out. Tell me about the gang member. What signs did he flash?” Coulson asks.  “Tell me everything.”

“Show him the video,” May requests.

Phil watches the video, categorizes the evidence and listens to the one phone call from the kidnapper. He gives a final comforting squeeze to a horrified Simmons’ shoulder and then he makes his proclamation.

“It’s Jasper,” he states.  “Unless something’s going on, he’s acting as though he’s following my instructions. Pull his cell phone records.”

“Jasper Sitwell?” Jemma gasps. “I have to deal with him?”

It is obvious that her promising weekend has gone to shite.

“The gang symbols?” Ward asks.

“He’s actually a former gang member, but we’ve sanitized his background. One of his gestures that you didn’t notice is one he would use to signal to me when I was his handler,” Coulson explains. He reaches for his cell phone and dials.  He leaves a terse message for Jasper to call him.

“Pull all of Jasper’s cases,” he requests.  “This may not be directed towards Skye or the team, but as a way to pull Jasper out of the office.”

“It’s well known secret that Sitwell is incredibly loyal to you,” May reminds Coulson.  

“What is not as well known is that there is only person who has managed to break the security on the nanny bracelet,” Coulson states. “And it’s Jasper.”

-=-=

A tire blows on the Acura and Jasper pulls off the road.  He parks the car, sets up the jack and attempts to turn the wrench to loosen the lugs. He throws his jacket into the backseat and returns back to the wheel.

“Step on the wrench,” he orders Skye, who is quite obviously not impressed with his tire changing skills.

“If Mr. Big Bad Secret Agent can’t,” she begins but Mr.-Big-Bad-Secret-Agent-Isn’t-Very-Happy so she stands on the wrench. It doesn’t move one single centimeter, so Jasper sighs and helps her off the wrench.

“Coulson owes me,” he says as he put his weight on the wrench which steadfastly remains in place.

Fortunately, a Rescue Side Assistance truck arrives on the scene, but Jasper ducks into the car while they’re pulling up.

“Just getting my AAA card,” he claims as he rummages through the glove compartment.

“Jasper? I have a bad feeling that these guys aren’t with the AAA,” Skye says as Jasper leaves the car.  

“I think the guns are a dead given away,” he admits. “Put your hands on your head. Keep your mouth shut.”

“Aren’t you going to Ninja your way out of this?”  She asks even as Jasper swings the tire wrench and takes down two with a solid crunch.

He’s about to take down a third when a soft voice says, “Don’t.”

One of the roadside assistant crew has a handgun against Skye’s temple.

He puts down the wrench and sighs, “Let me guess, Skye, you’re a hacker, not a fighter.”

“You told me not to do anything,” Skye protests. Really, they constantly complained when she didn’t follow instructions and the one time she did....  Let it be a lesson, she decided. From now on, she’d do anything she wanted. Regardless  of instructions.

“I didn’t think you’d actually listen to me. Everyone knows you’re a contrary delinquent.”

“Oh,” said Skye, who is not pleased with Jasper’s character assassinations.  What she really wanted to ask was, “This isn’t one of AC’s little tricks is it?” because while she knows it isn’t, she could be wrong.

“Into the van,” ordered Head Goon # 1.

-=-=-

Fitz is busy running various algorithms and attempting to trace either Jasper’s or Skye’s phones, while May is correlating or compiling Jasper’s latest cases. Ward... Ward, Coulson gives him The Glare so Ward knows he’s on thin ice so he does his own compiling on the data.

That leaves Simmons, who is being very quiet, plus she’s sadly changed back into sensible clothes with respectable shoes to match. He finally tilts his head at her so they leave the “Command Center” and go back to his room.  He leaves the door open between the two rooms.

“Not how I hoped this weekend would go,” he admits.

“Same here,” she confesses.

“I was rather looking forward to your nefarious scheme,” is his next confession.  “When we get Skye back, maybe we’ll still have part of the weekend left?”

Simmons is trying to be an adult, and a good girl, so she assures Coulson that the weekend, even truncated as it was, was far more than she had dared hoped. Her response seems to sadden Phil, but he nods his head in tired understanding.

“Let’s get our people back,” he says.

-=-

“Those are some interesting tattoos,” Skye remarks to Jasper Sitwell, who is currently clad only in his boxers and his glasses.  His muscular frame is liberally tattooed with what Skye believes to be are gang symbols.

Jasper Sitwell. Gang Member. Wearer of the Nanny Bracelet for three years and look at him now, suit wearing, gold rim glasses wearing, shaved head, member of the establishment, Level Seven Agent of SHIELD.

Wow. Maybe there’s still hope for her.

“Don’t mention the tats and I won’t mention the polka dots,” Sitwell retorts.

She blushes because of the all the days and nights to be stripped down to one’s underwear, it had to be the day she decided to be festive and wear a hot pink bra with polka dots. Least she didn’t wear the matching thong.

That would be hard to explain.  And rather cold to boot.

It seems that her festive underwear is giving Jasper a headache as he takes off his glasses. He rubs his fingers over the arm piece and then he nods his head.

“Let me see your bracelet,” he says as he puts his glasses back on.   

She extends her arm to him and he tugs at her bracelet. He puts his index finger under the bracelet and he moves it until he satisfied. Then he takes a thin, gold wire.... the same color wire as his glasses and places it in the same section as his finger. He twists it and then he nods his head in satisfaction.

That done, the thin wire disappears and Jasper slowly exhales.

“What did you do?” Skye whispers.

“When I wore the bracelet, I was able to remove it without Coulson being notified,” he admits. “However, they’ve changed the settings so I can’t get it off your wrist.”

“Damn,” she says.

-=-

“Getting a trace on Jasper’s cell phone. Located near Newton Lower Falls,” Fitz announces.

“I brought my Jeep, what car did you bring?” Coulson tersely asks as he starts re-arming himself. Simmons efficiently hands his weapons, which earns her a quiet thank you.

“The Toyota,” May answers.

“We’ll use the Jeep then. FitzSimmons, you stay here. Feel free to order room service. Don’t disagree; I’ve got only enough body armor for three people and you can run your toys remotely. May, Ward did you bring your own toys? Or do I have to provide that also?”  Coulson snaps at May.

“I’ve got some,” May admits.

The two senior agents discuss what they have and it’s seems that both of them have shopped at the Walmart of Weaponry as there are short barrel shotguns, ‘crude but effective’,  small caliber weapons, a few odd devices and the nite nite gun.

“Do not point that in Jasper’s direction,” Coulson announces.  “He was in the infirmary for three days and I am still paying him back for that bad girl shenanigans.”

Simmons notices that there is a coolest between the two senior agents and May looks... uncertain at Coulson’s terseness. 

Coulson’s personal cell phone rings and it’s “Chain of Fools” by Aretha Franklin. 

“That’s Skye’s nanny bracelet,” he announces as he answers the phone. He listens for a moment and then he stares at the screen. “Jasper, you are **_good_**. Fitz, Jasper’s activated the video feed on   Skye’s bracelet which means...”

“GPS coordinates, it will take me a moment to determine the location,” Fitz announces. “Her bracelet is still listed as out of service, but the video feed is bypassing SHIELD, so if there is a SHIELD personnel involved, they don’t know that Agent Sitwell has activated the feed.”

“Meet you at the Jeep. I’m parked in c five on the second level,” Phil turns his back on Ward and May and focuses on the two Scientists.

“When we leave, I want you to contact Maria Hill and Maria only. Do not contact Blake or Hand,” instructs Phil. “Simmons?”

“I’ll go talk with May,” Fitz offers as he grabs his tablet and leaves.

“Are you alright?” Coulson asks Simmons. His voice is very soft and affectionate.

“You seem... angry,” Simmons asks. Actually, a simmering pool of barely controlled range is the better description.  It’s unnerving as she’s never seen him like this.

“Skye and Jasper are in trouble,” he explains his anger as a result of that, but Simmons isn’t having any of that Coulson nobility shite.

“That’s not completely it,” she protests.

His face softens and he speaks in a very gentle tone. “I’m not angry with you. I was having such a wonderful weekend with a beautiful woman. I haven’t been this happy on years and... now whatever’s happening with Jasper and Skye and...I turned off my personal cell phone as I just wanted to completely in the moment with you...because I was flattered and I was honored and I wanted it to be perfect for you. And I turned off my cell phone. I never do that, and the result of that is Melinda’s embarrassed you in front of Ward and Fitz. After May and I divorced, it took a great deal of effort for us to re-establish a working relationship. I think she’s just nuked it back to the Stone Age because I’m that furious with her. But really, I’m furious with myself, because I shouldn’t have turned off my phone because time was wasted. I don’t have any messages on my phone, though. I just checked, but if it was on, I would have heard it ring. I got the nanny bracelet video feed though?”

“And why are you angry at Ward?” Simmons asks.

“Well, Ward mentioned the divorce, and the teams now knows about us, so you should know that Ward and May have been....” he pauses and looks at her in that way so she knows exactly what he means. “If he wants to play with fire, he should be smart enough to prevent a back draft. May combusted once and I don’t care to have front row seats to it again. I don’t think he’s emotionally capable of stopping May from self-destructing again. I know she’s my ex and I shouldn’t care... but she was a big part of my life. He should have reminded her to knock; instead, he’s in such awe of her that it’s like lemmings off a cliff.”

She embraces him tightly while he’s talking and he doesn’t hug her back. So she just concentrates on squeezing him harder until at last he responds.

“Go get Skye,” she orders. “And hurry. I have plans, desires and no Phil to fulPhil them.”

“And poor Jasper,” Phil quips.  “Once again he’s in over his head due to Skye.”

“Hurry back. I’ll pick out the tie,” she says.

“Use the silk ties,” he requests; she gives him a cheeky smile.

-=-=-

“You’re not driving,” Phil informs May, who is sitting in the driver’s seat. “I don’t want to replace the clutch.”

“I drive standard just fine,” May protests but Coulson stares at her and points at the empty passenger seat.

“Ward, Fitz will be sending you the layout of the building where the bracelet currently is. Share the details with May,” he continues talking even while May begrudgingly gives up the driver’s seat.  “Fortunately, Jasper is with Skye so she’s not by herself.”

-=-=-

The drive is shorter than Ward anticipate as Phil knows short cuts that involve cutting across farmland, a playground and driving the wrong way on the interstate sans headlights.  If that’s not scary enough, Phil sends himself a voice reminder to, “Order lunch for Millie and the crew at the Traffic Bureau for next week,” even while he’s racking up traffic violations and points on his licenses by the scores.

“Send the dwarfs in,” Phil orders FitzSimmons.

-=-=-

Jasper Sitwell doesn’t take his capture sitting down.  No, he paces the room, examines the door and then asks Skye exactly how much she weighs in her polka dotted underwear.

“I beg your pardon?” she snaps, as well, it is a personal question.

He points to a window which is about fifteen feet up.

“I can boost you, but you’ll need to climb the rest to see if the windows can be opened,” explains Sitwell.

“Then what?”

“You throw the magic beans on the ground and it will grow a bean stalk,” Jasper deadpans. “Seriously, we need intel. Once we find out if the window can be opened, we find out where it goes, and what we need to do in order to get both of us out of here.”

He cups his hands and crouches.

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t miss the hands,” he snarks. “Kicking me in the genitals will lead to me dropping you.”

“How long did you work for Coulson?” Skye asks.

Sitwell shakes his head, “You need to learn something; you don’t ever stop working for Phil, unless he shuts you out. On the count of three, one.... two.... three.”

He snaps into a standing position and Skye scrambles to steady her precarious balance. “So glad I shaved,” she mutters to herself.

-=-=

Coulson crisply orders his team as they work the building. He is intense and efficient, which Ward knows to be his normal modus operandi; however there are no dry quips to lighten the mood. 

“What’s up with Coulson?” Ward hisses at May.

“He shut us out,” May whispers. “He’s furious.”

Ward quirks an eyebrow and May shakes her head, silently saying ‘Don’t press the issue’; even while Coulson gestures for them to follow him.  They meet in a dark corner and Coulson updates them.

“Hill has sent in reinforcements and they are surrounding the building,” Coulson announces.  Then he looks perplexed, “Skye’s bracelet is in the same area but it’s now thirteen feet higher. Wheezy is having problems determining what’s happening.”

“Wheezy?” Ward asks.

“Wheezy, Sleazy,  Breezy;  one of the dwarves. I can’t keep them straight as they look alike to me.” Coulson taps his ear piece and shakes his head. “And...Skye’s down. According to Cheesy, they are two levels down. Follow me.”

-=-=-

“I have to bring you down,” Sitwell hisses as his arms are beginning to shake from the strain of supporting Skye.  He tries to be graceful but Skye shifts her weight and the teetering tower of humanity comes crashing down. “I hate Coulson,” is Sitwell’s muttered complaint to the uncaring world.

However, when the door to their cell creaks slowly open, Jasper Sitwell is in a proper fighting stance. He is a gentleman as he hides Sky and her assorted polka dots behind him.

Phil Coulson walks into the room and he shakes his head in mock disbelief.

“Why do you always have to show off your physique?” Coulson quips as he hands Jasper a sawed off shotgun for his own use.  He quickly hands Skye his jacket and he turns around, head bowed, hands under his armpits as he is a gentleman and will not sneak a peek. Ward on the other hand, needs a reminder. “Ward, turn around.”

“I wear less in the pool,” Jasper admits.

“Yes, Jasper Sitwell wears speedos, I’ve heard it whispered in the hallways,” Phil quips.  “Do either of you have shoes?”

“Took ‘em. Where’s that crazy British girl, Coulson. She needs to show up and make everything fucking perfect,” Sitwell growls.

“She’s doing surveillance from a safe distance. However I do have the nite nite gun in my possession,” Coulson cheerfully informs Jasper. “And I want that shotgun back after this.”

“It’s one of Gunnie’s shot gun isn’t it? I recognize the modifications.” To Skye’s stunned disbelief, Jasper continues to converse as though it’s perfectly normal for him to be wearing silk boxers and brandishing a sawed off shut gun, though with those abs, maybe it is.

“Maria’s joined the party. She was in Melrose with a dozen or so agents, bored, looking for fun on a Saturday night,” Coulson advises Jasper.

“Great. When Hill sees me wearing this, I’ll be in Mr. SHIELD 2014 calendar,” Jasper sighs.  “I’ve been in the damn calendar for ten years running.”

“Stop wearing Speedos at the pool is my suggestion. However, I’ll let you borrow my Berretta and my knife,” offers Coulson. “Put the knife between your teeth, the shot gun by your waist....”

“Speaking of Berrettas, can I have it?” Skye interrupts as she’s getting weird vibes from Coulson and the rest of her team.  If she didn’t know better, she would think that she’s out of the Coulson dog house and Ward and May are bunking in it. “I mean, you’ve got a spare gun or three. Could you give me one so I could use so I’m not like.... defenseless.”

“You still say ‘Bang’ in target practice,” Coulson protests even as he hands over his Berretta. “Don’t do in public; we have a reputation as professionals to maintain.”

“Bang?” An amused Jasper asks. “As in bang, bang?”

“Shut up, Mr. February,” snaps Skye.

-=-=-

With the helpful assistance of Maria and her cohort, the building is quickly neutralized.  Sitwell, Coulson and Hill walk through the unconscious evil doers and Jasper bends down to examine one.  He’s still wearing nothing but his boxers and one young female agent is about to swoon from his pecs and his silk covered bum.

“That’s one of Blake’s contacts,” Sitwell says to Coulson and Hill. “He’s had surgery to remove the teardrops tattoos but that’s him.”

“What did you do to piss off Blake?” Coulson asks.

“Claire,” Hill announces. “She is his new assistant as her boyfriend modified one of the Chitauri guns. R&D got him, Blake got her. She can’t even make coffee. However, I think it’s because Blake is after Coulson.”

“He is Hand’s bitch,” Sitwell admits. “And Hand really doesn’t like Coulson, that entire dead, not dead business, taking FitzSimmons for his team business.”

“How did it happen?”  Coulson asks.

“Got an email from you, requesting help on your team.  It used all the code words we had agreed upon and when I tried to call you, it went to voice mail. I left several messages and you never called.”

“You’re the second person that told me that they left messages that I never got. It seems my burner cell phone isn’t taking my messages,” Phil admits. “I need to get another one.”

“I’ll investigate, carefully,” Maria promised the two of them. “Plus, I’ll let Fury know. However, Jasper?”

She licks her lips and smiles.

“This reeks of Sexual Harassment,” he primly states.  “However, since proceeds go to a good cause, snap away.”

“Cock the shotgun. It’s very Freudian,” suggests Coulson.

“I won’t autograph the picture,” protests Sitwell. “I got carpal tunnel from last year’s picture.”

“Not even for me and my polka dots?” Skye chimes in.

-=-=-

FitzSimmons, once they hear that everyone was safe and no one was harmed, embraces tightly.

“Are you staying?” They both asked at the same time before chiming in with, “As long as you are because Coulson never signed the transfer papers.”

Their laughter fills the room.

“That red dress, Simmons,” Fitz says with a very obvious blush.  “Coulson?”

“Loved it,” Simmons sings.

“You need to change back into it, so you can get back to what we interrupted. I’m so sorry we interrupted.”

-=-=-

 “Coulson,” Melinda May begins as they walk to Coulson’s Jeep.

He holds out the Coulson Finger of Silence and he shakes his head.

“Don’t say anything,” Coulson quietly states.  “You didn’t apologize therefore I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”

She stumbles and Coulson continues to walk.

“I want you and Ward to return back to New York. I will see you on Friday, and not one moment before,” Coulson continues. “Skye, if you want to stay in Boston for a few days of R&R, I’ll put you and Fitz up in rooms.  Regardless, you and Fitz can stay in Boston tonight. I’ll get you both on the ACELA Express whenever you want to go home.”

“I think it would be fun, I’ve never been to Boston,” Skye decides.

It’s a very long, silent car ride back to the hotel, helped in part due to Phil Coulson religiously following the traffic regulations of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. When they enter the parking garage of the hotel, Phil stops in front of Melinda’s car.

“Do you and Ward have enough money for a Holiday Inn?” he asks.

She nods.

“Then, goodnight.”

“Phil?” Melinda May’s voice is so soft as to be almost unable to be heard by Skye who is sitting the back of the truck.

“You humiliated her, Melinda. Now get out.”

“I am sorry, I know you are angry,” May begins.

“I’m probably the angriest I have ever been with you, Melinda.  Now, please leave. I’ll be fine on Friday when we hash this out. No, actually, **_we’ll_** be fine on Friday.”

“ ** _Promise_**?” Melinda’s voice is just a whisper.

“ ** _Promise_** ,” Coulson says.

Naturally, Grant Ward disagrees with Coulson. The younger agent protests that he was too hard on May. The older agent swallows once, twice and then steps out of the car so Skye couldn’t hear the conversation.

“You forget something, Ward.  Something very important. You only know the legend of Melinda May; you are in such awe of the legend that you didn’t think it was a good idea to knock before you barged into my hotel room. I knew the woman who was Melinda May, before Bahrain. The woman who loved rock n’ roll music, who enjoyed splashing in puddles and who never, ever humiliated a fellow agent in front of their peers. You also don’t know the conversations Melinda and I had regarding Jemma Simmons. I thought I could trust her opinion, her honesty and her empathy.”

Coulson glared at Ward and then he added, “Did you apologize? Or will I have to deal with another team member quitting because of your half-assed apology? You two are a dangerous combination as together you completely lack anything regarding empathy. You’re like two lemmings going off the cliff.”

Phil then waited for Ward to protest before he delivered the killing blow.  “The Melinda May I knew, would never permit anyone to defend her when she was obviously in the wrong. Melinda, you were wrong and you knew it when you overrode the lock on the door. You knew what you could walk in on, and you did it anyway. I just don’t know why?”

He pauses.

“Do you dislike Simmons that much? It can’t be because you’re jealous?”

Coulson then gets back into his Jeep and drives away.

“Let’s go find a hotel,” Ward offers. “There’s plenty around here.”

“Make sure there’s a liquor store within walking distance,” May requests.  

And Grant pretends not to see that Melinda May has tears in her eyes.

-=-=-

Coulson sits in the Jeep for fifteen minutes, deep in thought, and he finally sighs.

“Let’s get you and Fitz hotel rooms,” he announces.

The hotel is quick and efficient and before long both Fitz and Skye are in their hotel rooms, with a plan for meeting up tomorrow with Coulson and Simmons for part of the day. Not the whole day as he has made plans, but a brief touristy tour of his hometown might be interesting for Fitz and Skye.

He returns back to his hotel room and Simmons is... Thank God above, wearing the red dress and the strappy heels.  There is a bottle of champagne and there are several neckties on the table. He picks one up and makes a face which causes Jemma to giggle.

“The team knows about us,” Phil unnecessarily announces the obvious. “What now?”

“I’d like to continue this,” Simmons admits and she’s awarded with a delighted smile from Coulson. With dimples, so he’s awfully chuffed.

“We’d need to be discreet and circumspect, Jemma.”

“I think we could manage to do that.” Jemma, ever the optimist, decides. “We’d have to be professional. Nothing too intimate on the bus and we could sneak into each other’s hotel rooms. Just have to make sure that we don’t run into May and Ward in the hallways.”

“I’ll be horribly protective of you, plus I will grin like an absolute idiot for no reason,” Coulson confesses.

“Everyone will think you got a new Captain America trading card,” Simmons teases as she leans over to kiss him.

“Where were we?” Coulson asks after a very long kiss.

“I was planning on undressing you and possibly tying your hands to the bedposts, so I can make this weekend good for you.”

“It has been a wonderful weekend, Jemma.”

 

The End.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

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